HOPE
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Strauss is observing yet another BAU case. Set after my story Apocalypse Now. Case Fic and H/P romance...enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

(AUG FIRST, I've made a few minor changes. Enjoy!)

(For those interested in a forum dedicated to the CRAFT of writing, please visit my profile and my forum!)

**HOPE**

Erin Strauss didn't hate Aaron Hotchner, no matter what everyone else thought. Strauss was actually quite ambivalent to the man. Her main goal was preserving her unit and her status in it. With Agent Gideon long retired, Hotchner was the only one in their unit who could effectively take her place, and she knew it.

A woman in her position had to be careful if she wanted to keep that position. But after the Joseph Smith case nearly a year and half ago, and David Rossi's recent brush with an exploding SUV, she'd come to realize one very important thing—Aaron Hotchner was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and she needn't fear for her job.

So there was no awkwardness when she approached Hotchner about accompanying his team on another case.

"You want to what?" Hotch repeated.

"I—and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle—will be accompanying your team on this case. He'll be heading up the new Team D of the BAU. I want him to see exactly how a case is handled from beginning to end." Strauss said, motioning to the dark haired man standing in her office.

He was tall and wiry, with similar coloring to Hotchner, though his eyes and hair weren't as dark. He was roughly the same age as Hotchner, as well, but his eyes didn't have that tight look that characterized the head of the Bureau's _premiere _BAU team.

Hotch had seen more than this man. And that was more than evident.

"Yes, ma'am." Hotchner said, knowing there was really no logical objection he could form. "We're heading wheels up in forty five minutes. We'll be doing a briefing on the plane."

"We'll see you there, Agent Hotchner, that will be all." Strauss dismissed.

HOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCHHOTCH

Emily, JJ, and even Garcia were bunched together at the small table at the back of the plane, laughing stealthily at the most recent Photoshopped pictures of Derek, Hotch, Rossi, and even Reid, currently playing on Garcia's laptop.

Three of the four men in question had no clue they were the object of the giggles from the three feminine parts of the team. Rossi—still not completely physically recovered—had chosen to stay behind and work on something for Unit Chief Strauss. JJ stood, still smiling, and began her routine visit to the cockpit to give the signal that the team was ready.

She stopped as a flurry of footsteps registered. She turned, and was the first to see Strauss and the two men accompanying her.

"Ma'am?" She said, in greeting, and in question, as Garcia hurriedly shut her laptop and attempted to look innocent.

Emily just had an extremely wary look on her face, and a hint of suspicion in her dark, dark eyes. She and Strauss had never warmed up to each, and Emily doubted they ever would.

"If I may." Hotch said, standing as the three new people took seats. "Unit Chief Strauss and Supervisory Special Agent Sidle, and—"

"SSA Reice Ramierez." The other man introduced quickly. He was equally as tall as Derek, and his skin was only a shade lighter. He wasn't a bulky as Derek, but his build left no doubt he was toned and strong.

"SSA Ramierez will be observing and assisting us on this case. They will then be forming a Team D. Any questions?" Hotch asked, and when no one replied he turned to JJ. "Go ahead and tell them we're ready. Portland is waiting."

"Yes, sir." JJ said, one hand resting on her four month belly, a bump that was just noticeable. Pretty soon she'd not be flying with the team, and she was well aware of it. She was already confined completely to police stations and hotel rooms. Honestly, she wasn't that upset about it. She'd seen so many dead victims—most of them women—that she was grateful for the break.

"SSA Hotchner, are you ready for a briefing?" Strauss demanded, thoughts of the last case she'd worked with this particular team niggling the back of her mind. It was the one and only time she'd been in the field. She still had the nightmares about that woman. Sometimes, the woman's hair grew so long that it wrapped around Erin until she couldn't breathe. Sometimes, it was Agent Prentiss who they'd not gotten to in time. Sometimes it was Erin herself.

Not that she'd ever tell anyone that. Ever.

"Let's introduce the team, first. We customarily wait until after take-off to begin spreading out the files." Hotchner said, as he settled into his seat beside Prentiss—Emily. Ever since the night the team had spent sleeping in an old South Dakota barn, he'd made a conscious effort to let himself think of her as _Emily _instead of the elusive SSA Prentiss. Now, over two months later, and all he thought about was Emily. Especially at night.

"Supervisory Special Agent Scott Sidle, SSA Ramierez," Strauss began, and motioned to the tall dark man who smiled, revealing a slight and charming gap between his teeth. "SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau, and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia."

"Nice to meet you." Sidle said, smiling at everyone individually.

Hotch didn't miss the way his eyes lingered ever so slightly longer on Emily. Several moments passed, as everyone buckled their belts for take off. It was an unusually silent group. Emily sat near JJ, knowing that take-offs had been making her friend illnauseous for the last couple of trips. She didn't want Strauss to see JJ getting ill, and knew it would be only a matter of seconds after the plane stabilized before JJ would be out of her seat and rushing toward the rear of the plane.

Sure enough, as soon as the light went out, signifying they could move around again, JJ was up. Emily stood quickly and blocked the line of sight to the restroom. Garcia, across the aisle and beside Derek, stood as well, making a big production of adjusting her laptop and searching through files.

Hotch smiled inwardly, knowing what they were doing. The team protected their own. And Erin Strauss was the biggest threat to the team. If she said JJ couldn't be a part of the unit until after her maternity leave was over—then so be it.

He could easily have told them they didn't have to worry—he'd long squared away all their positions with the team. They were the best and they functioned the best when they were together. Even Strauss had to know she'd only be hurting herself if she tried to dismantle the team.

JJ was back within a few moments, face pale, one hand resting on her stomach; she smiled at Emily and nodded, wordlessly conveying that she was alright.

Hotch, ever observant, saw the little exchange and turned to the rest of the group as Emily and JJ took their seats and opened their files. Hotch tried not to let himself be distracted by the sweet strawberry scent of Emily Prentiss's shampoo.

Sometimes he wondered if she knew strawberry was his favorite scent, his favorite flavor of sweet. Wondered if she knew, and did it on purpose. Wondered if she knew he'd taken a bottle from her things months ago. He kept it in his bathroom, just as a reminder of her.

"Three weeks ago, Portland authorities found the bodies of six women. Late twenties to mid thirties, in the greater Portland area. They'd been systematically raped, tortured, burned, and asphyxiated. Special Agent Calbert of the Portland field office called us personally to ask for our assistance. The case was deemed federal because pictures of the women were mailed from a Seattle postal address." JJ began, as each of the regular team members opened their files. Emily handed hers to Strauss, while Reid and Derek shared theirs with Sidle and Ramierez. Hotch shifted slightly so Emily could read his file. She moved ever so much closer and his body tensed.

It took all his years of training to make his body relax. They'd grown so much closer in the last several weeks, and his body craved hers, cried out for what she'd yet to give him.

"Calvert—isn't he the guy we worked with the last time we were in Portland?" Reid asked. "What made him think we could help with this?"

"It's not what's happened or how the bodies were found," JJ read from her notes of the transcribed telephone conversation. "But what's being done to them. Both pre- and post- mortem. He said it sounds like a real sick son of a bitch and thought that SSA Hotchner and SSA Prentiss could help."

"What? Not the rest of us?" Derek smirked. "Now I'm heart-broken."

"Calvert really seemed to, um, _respect, _Emily's investigating abilities the last time we were there." JJ said, snickering softly as her dark eyed colleague rolled her eyes and leaned back in the seat. "I think he probably would have preferred a _solo _consult."

"Not with that again, Jayje." Emily said, sighing inwardly—why was JJ and Garcia so obsessed with her love life? Didn't their own, more active love lives keep them busy enough? JJ had a fiance waiting for her at home, and Penelope had her Kevin.

"Ladies." Hotch said, slightly warningly. "Anyway, we've agreed to take the case. So let's continue, shall we?"

"So what do we know?" Reid asked, turning to the great computer guru. "Do we have any IDs?"

"Not yet. Bodies were, um, too badly mutilated to even work with dental." Garcia said, "I've sent everyone copies of all we got on their handhelds. Chief Strauss, if you give me a moment, I can forward the information."

"Please, Ms. Garcia." Strauss said, though she really didn't want to see those pictures. It baffled her how the members of Hotchner's team barely flinched upon opening their files. She wondered briefly if _they _were ever plagued by nightmares.

"So we've little to go on." Ramierez said, "What will you do next?"

"Sleep." Hotchner said, emphatically. "Portland is a long flight, and once we get there we'll work long hours. Take the rest when you can get it."

Strauss started to object, but realized what the man said made sense. Hotchner's team all stood, pulling blankets out of compartments, pillows, headphones. Jareau moved to the opposite side, stretching out on the slightly longer bench. Hotchner made no action to move, instead spreading his long legs out and leaning back in the seat. Strauss, herself moved to the seat vacated by Jareau. It was the furthest from the rest of the group. She'd never been comfortable sleeping among others.

"You don't want to sit there." Hotch said, matter of fact.

"And why not?"

He motioned to Prentiss, who had arranged a pillow near his thigh. "She kicks like a mule. You'll be directly in the line of fire."

"But there's plenty of room." Strauss argued. Prentiss said nothing, already nearly out. The last case had been a tough one, for her especially, and she welcomed any sleep she could get.

"Trust me." JJ said. "The woman kicks unbelievably bad."

"Yes. Last time we had to share a one bed hotel room—we made her sleep on the coffee table." Garcia added. "I think she traumatized it."

"You're kidding?" Sidle said, looking at the woman in question. She'd fallen asleep with the ease of a child, unaware she was the topic of conversation. He envied that. "She's that bad?"

"Yes." Reid said. "I made the mistake of sitting there a few months ago. She kicks much harder than Hotch. Before that I don't think we even noticed her kicking much."

"Apparently I kick like a nine year old girl." Hotch said, drolly, eyes closing. He was unaware that his hand was absently tangling in Prentiss's dark curls. Unaware that Chief Strauss's eyes were tracking the movement in surprise and speculation. "Prentiss is a lot higher on the kicking ladder."

As he spoke the woman in question began to move, a soft sigh releasing from her lips. One hand snaked out, stretched above her head and glanced off Hotch's hip. He didn't even open his eyes, just grabbed the offending fist and tucked it back under the pillow. It was obvious to all who watched that he'd done the same before.

JJ spread her blanket over her legs and twisted on her side. Sleeping wasn't always easy in her condition. Garcia, stretched out on the other end of the seat, grabbed the end of JJ's blanket and straightened it. "Sleep, little Momma."

"That's all I do any more, Pen." The blonde woman said, drowsily.

"That's all you need to do right now, Jayje." Garcia said. "So that my godchild is happy."

"Yes, ma'am." JJ said, drifting off easily. Garcia soon followed, her head pillowed on the polka-dot feather pillow she left on the jet for the rare occasions she accompanied the team.

Soon the cabin was silent, the women all sleeping. Hotch found it difficult, he couldn't relax with Strauss on the plane, and with Emily so close. So he opened his eyes and looked around at the rest of the passengers. Morgan and Reid were both reclined in their seats and were dozing. Sidle and Ramierez were still awake, though neither was talking.

Sidle noticed Hotch was awake and he turned toward him. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Hotch whispered as Emily flipped over, the blanket tangling around her knees. He absently reach a hand down and pulled the soft material free.

"Send your female agents out. Knowing that they might fit the victimology." Sidle said, eyes moving from the obviously pregnant blonde woman to the dark-haired woman sleeping so fitfully to the colorful tech. "How do you prevent them from becoming victims, or targets?"

"You look at them as agents first, women second. You know their strengths and their weaknesses. JJ—Agent Jareau, she's a media liaison, and she goes—went—in the field, but never alone. SSA Prentiss, its different with her. She's fully qualified for any situation. But if possible, no one goes anywhere alone." Hotch explained. "You've also got too realize that someday, in some case or another, sooner or later we all will fit the victimology. Black male, white male, dark haired female, blonde female, dark haired couple, young couple, bi-racial couple. Unfortunately, they'll fit the victimology much more than the rest of us. It's the nature of serial killers that most have sexualized components. We accept it. We have to."

"So it doesn't bother you? Sending them out?" Ramierez asked.

"Yes. It bothers me. Each and every time. I sent a female agent home and an UNSUB ambushed her in her own home. I once sent Prentiss into the home of a serial killer who cut his victims' hearts out, alone. While they were alive." Hotch said, bluntly. This was information every team leader had to know. Especially in the BAU. "She was the best chance of stopping the guy. She came out of it with a concussion. I know that on every case someone could get hurt. That will always bother me."

"But you do it." Sidle said, understanding. He'd had female agents on his teams before, he was thinking of bringing two onto his new team in the BAU. "Even though you can't be with them in every case."

"They'd not respect me if I treated them any differently than I did those agents over there." Hotch motioned to Morgan and Reid. Morgan had his headphones on, most likely to drowned out the mumblings of the younger man beside him. Reid talked in his sleep incessantly.

"Yet you're not running your fingers through Dr. Reid's hair." Sidle pointed out.

Hotch's eyes flashed and he looked down, finding that he was indeed running his fingers through the dark curls. "It helps her sleep, knowing she's not alone. Helps keep her still. We all have nightmares. Sometimes they're easier to fight if you're not alone."

"I think, Agent Hotchner, that you chose to sit there knowing what would happen." Sidle said, probing the other man. "Is there something there?"

"That's none of your business." Hotch replied. "SSA Prentiss is a member of my team."

"Hey, I'm not condemning." Sidle said, holding up his hands. "She's a beautiful woman, you're free to do whatever you like. I can't say that I blame you, even."

"I suggest you sleep, SSA Sidle. Tomorrow's going to bring a lot you won't be expecting." Hotch said, deliberately twisting his fingers in Emily's hair. He looked down at her, hoping it would calm some of the anger he felt at the other man's inferences.

Not that it wasn't something he'd considered before. Since that night in the hospital chapel, he'd thought of nothing else. Not of making love with Hayley, the woman he'd spent half his life loving—no, he thought of nothing but rolling Emily beneath him and sharing all the darkness he'd held back for so long. He'd had her beneath him a few times, too. Nothing too inappropriate, she wasn't ready for that. But, God, it left him wanting, this obsession of his.

Those dark eyes of hers would see through to the very soul of him. He knew it. Would see in to him while he was in to nothing but her. He couldn't get her out of his head. It was only getting worse. But he'd promised her two weeks. And those two weeks were up.

That both intrigued him and terrified him on so many levels.

EMILYEMILYEMILYEMILYEMILYEMILEY

Emily woke nearly three feet south on the bench then where she'd started out. Her knees were curled up to her chest, and her head was still on her pillow. But she wasn't alone on it. Hotch had stretched out, propping his knees up to fit on the bench and his dark head rested mere inches from hers.

It didn't surprise her. Waking up with him close had almost become a habit, especially since the case where she'd woken in a barn curled up in his warm arms. It was almost as if he deliberately chose to sleep beside her each and every time since then. Nobody ever said anything, nobody ever sent them strange looks. Nobody even cared. It just was. Penelope and Morgan continued to flirt, though she was more than happy with Kevin, JJ still made Reid so unbelievably nervous at times—and Hotch slept beside Emily.

She hadn't minded, she just slept better knowing he was near.

It took her a moment to remember Erin Strauss and her new agents. Strauss was already awake—she was the first of any of the passengers. She'd noticed right away that Prentiss and Hotchner's fingers were entwined.

Fraternization was not something that was generally acceptable in the bureau. She wasn't sure what she'd do if she found out there was something unprofessional going on between Hotchner and his subordinate. Still—she knew they had an horrible job, so what if they'd chosen each other to help them get through it? As long as they kept it out of the office, should she really object?

It was something worth thinking about.

Hotchner awoke mere seconds after Prentiss, something he always did. He smiled at her, softly. For one moment it was as if it was just the two of them. Then he too remembered the unit chief. He sat up, though his movements showed no hint of awkwardness. He always woke immediately clear headed.

A part of him wanted Strauss to confront him about Prentiss. Then he could make it clear she was to stay out of his—and Emily's—private lives. Not that they had one together. But if they had…it would be best to make his position clear from the very beginning.

"Agent Hotchner, I believe will be landing soon." Strauss said, deciding to hold off on confronting him for the next little while. She'd watch them throughout the case and then make her determination. "Shouldn't we begin another briefing soon?"

"Just a moment, ma'am." Hotch said, rubbing his face as Emily sat up slowly. It always took her a moment to get her orientation when she first awoke. "Everyone usually takes a few moments to freshen up before we begin."

Emily stood, grabbing her small toiletry bag from beneath her seat. She didn't speak to anyone, just stumbled to the back of the plane.

"It takes her a while to wake up." Morgan said softly, as he stretched. "I don't suggest talking to her for at least fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be pretty. I'll make coffee."

He stood, nudging Reid as he did so. The younger man grunted, snuffled a little, then his eyes popped open and his body went tense so quickly Strauss nearly jumped. Spencer Reid was one very unusual man.

"Morning, Hotch." Reid said, as JJ and Garcia—as well as the two new agents—stirred. "We almost there?"

"We're about an hour out." Hotch said, as he stood to head to the second restroom. He always felt better after taking a quick sink bath and changing into fresh clothes. When he stepped out he was awake, clean, and presentable. He met Emily on his way out and he allowed her to pass before him into the main cabin. "Once everyone's awake we'll go over what we have."

JJ stood almost silently and Hotch and Emily quickly got out of the way. They'd worked with her on enough cases since she'd announced her pregnancy to know that when she first woke up, they had to get out of her path to the restroom and quick.

Soon everyone was spread out around one of the small tables going over everything they had while they ate breakfast. Hotch seamlessly passed Emily part of his blueberry bagel and she handed him the last strawberry jelly packet. The BAU team had eaten countless breakfasts together and they all knew what their friends ate. Strauss and the new agents watched slightly baffled at the way food flowed as if by magic around the little table. They watched as Morgan topped off Emily's coffee, as Spencer handed JJ a box of juice, how Hotch cut his orange in thirds and handed one third to Garcia, one to Emily, and kept one for himself. Watched Morgan snag the bagel Emily tossed to him, watched Garcia pop a pair of pop tarts in the small toaster and hand one to Reid.

It was a strange team that didn't need words to communicate and Strauss was almost in awe of them. Almost. Their methods were also slightly disconcerting.

"So where will we begin?" Sidle asked, chewing on his own bagel from his spot beside Emily.

"First, we'll rendezvous with Calvert, get anything new that's developed. Go over victimology. JJ and Garcia will set up in the local police department. Emily, Derek, Reid, and I will go to the dumpsite or sites—JJ, was there more than one?"

"Yes, sir. They found two separate sites, approximately four miles apart." JJ said, more than content with the chocolate pudding cup she'd pulled from the plane's refrigerator. It was her not-so-secret pleasure, especially since getting pregnant. "Both near rivers."

"Prentiss, you and I will take the first site. Derek, Reid, you take the second. JJ, you and Garcia…" Hotch looked at the two blonde women, expectantly.

"We know. We go straight to the station, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars." Garcia said, having heard the spiel before.

"Chief Strauss, why don't you accompany JJ and Garcia?" Hotch suggested, "SSA Sidle, can ride along with Prentiss and I, Ramierez with Morgan and Reid."

Strauss wanted to object his taking charge, but she really didn't want to see another crime scene. Not yet. One set of nightmares was enough. "That sounds good."

The pilot announced an imminent landing and advised everyone fasten their belts. Everyone moved to do so, Emily being the last to move. She lost her footing as the plane began a quick descent. SSA Sidle reached out a hand and caught her before she landed full in his lap. She laughed, slightly embarrassed, as he held her steady until the plane leveled slightly and she could turn back toward her seat and the man beside her seat. Hotch had reached for her the moment he'd seen her stumble, but had been too late. He took her hand as the plane continued it's downward path, and pulled her first to him. He held her tight until the plane leveled out then helped her quickly into her seat and her own belt.

"You ok, Agent Prentiss?" He asked, though his tone belied the professional address he'd given her. He searched her face quickly.

"Yes. You'd think I'd learn to move a little quicker." She said, ruefully. "How many times has something like that happened to me now?"

"Sixty-three in the last four months." Spencer said, distractedly. "You always misjudge the landings, Em. With planes, trains, and automobiles. Hotch's caught you forty-eight times, Morgan eleven, me three, and the rest of the times you just sort of _landed_!"

"Thanks for that accurate report of my clumsiness, Spencer." Emily said, keeping a straight face as she looked at the younger man.

"Any time, Emily. At least you didn't elbow anyone—again." Spencer said, actually sending her a wink. Emily was one of the three women he felt truly comfortable with just being himself. He'd actually learned to tease a little bit. He'd not admit it, but even when he'd been so bitter towards her, and angry at her questions, he'd always secretly been thankful for the way she'd not pulled her punches with him like the rest of the team had. "That really hurt."

It made him respect her immensely, now. Plus, it was what he'd imagined a mother or a big sister would do. Emily was part of his family now, and he enjoyed her maternal fussing over him. He also kind of liked seeing the way Hotch was changing around her. Hotch was one of the men Reid truly admired. If those two ever figured things out between them, it would bring hope to the BAU. Just like JJ's pregnancy had. The way Garcia's comments did.

Sometimes, Spencer knew the only thing a family had was _hope. _As he felt the plane land, he wished quickly that the team would be able to offer the world one little bit of hope—that they'd catch the bastard responsible for those women's deaths before any more women were killed.

And that the team remained safe while they did it.


	2. Chapter 2

HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS

Two bureau vehicles waited when they deplaned. Calvert and another agent stood waiting to chauffer them to the Portland field office. Calvert greeted them and introductions were quickly made.

"Thank you for coming so quickly." Calvert began, smiling almost imperceptibly at Emily before continuing in his thick Bostonian accent. "We've booked you into the same hotel you were in last time, but I figured you'd want to get started as soon as you got here."

"Has there been any new developments?" Strauss asked, holding her bag tightly.

"We've finally IDed some of the victims through DNA. We, uh, found three more bodies about an hour ago. No identification on them just yet."

"Anything different about his site?" Morgan asked, as he lifted first JJ's then Garcia's bags into the back of one vehicle.

"Same as before." Calvert said, taking Emily's bag and placing it next to Strauss's. "Bodies were found less than a mile south of the second dump site. Same general positioning. Nothing's been disturbed. I figured you all would want to see it first."

"We'll swing by there first." Hotch decided. "JJ and Garcia, you're to stay with the vehicles. Everyone else will spread out and see what you can find. If he's dumping three at a time we haven't got the time to waste."

"Yes, sir." The team members murmured. Calvert climbed in the driver seat and Hotch, Strauss, Sidle, and Emily followed his lead. Morgan and the rest of the team crammed into the second vehicle and soon they were speeding toward the Portland field office.

"What can you tell us about the victims?" Emily asked, from her cramped position in the back seat between Sidle and Hotch. Both men took up an inordinate about of space, just for their long legs alone. She was pressed flush against Hotch's side, his warmth heating her side. He smelled like Hotch, slightly more expensive aftershave, and the strawberry jelly he'd so enthusiastically spread over his bagel that morning. He was always like a kid when it came to strawberries.

"Melinda Carmichael, age 32. Brown and brown. Disappeared on her way to car outside a small grocery. Tara Ann Seymour, 36. Dark brown and brown. Went missing outside her eight year old's elementary school. Melissa Morten, 34. Blonde and green. Missing outside a local Wal-Mart. They've been missing roughly six weeks. All were found at the first site." Calbert said as he navigated the busy Portland streets. "Ava Ariset, 29, brown and brown. Missing outside a grocery store. Katherine Walls, 27, brown and green, missing from outside her home. Her vehicle was found running. And Roberta Fae Mallory, 38. Brown and brown. Missing from outside a video store. Missing four weeks."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Hotch asked, moving an arm to rest behind Emily, freeing a little more space in the backseat.

"No. Other than the running vehicle, it was like they just walked out of the public locations and disappeared." Calbert said. "No witnesses, no real physical evidence. They're just…gone."

"So how will we find this guy?" Strauss asked, nearly sickened. She did her best work in an office, and that was becoming more than abundantly clear. Maybe she should have stayed in Washington.

"We'll go to the scene, gather as much information as we can, then start the initial profile," Hotch said, as the vehicle pulled into a DNR parking lot near the Columbia River close to where the bodies had been found. Soon, he and the other passengers were out of the vehicles and ready to begin work. "Calvert, I'll need your agent to remain here with the vehicles and assist TA Garcia and SA Jareau in anything they need."

"Yes, sir. SSA Stone? See to that the ladies have everything they need." Calvert ordered. "The bodies are just over that ridge there."

Soon, Calbert was leading the way, Hotchner, Morgan and Prentiss directly behind him. Sidle, Ramierez, and Strauss were a moment behind them, and Reid was in the rear. That way he could observe the newest members of the team unobtrusively.

What he saw intrigued him. He watched as Emily stumbled slightly. Hotch and Calvert reached for her, to steady her. Morgan merely reached a hand behind him, and Emily took it wordlessly, accepting his help without reservation.

Spencer thought all the male attention was making his pretty colleague a little uneasy. Spencer might not be a ladies-man like Morgan, but he wasn't completely oblivious to the undercurrents suddenly surrounding Emily. He hadn't missed the way SSA Sidle's eyes lingered on Emily, the way Calvert had of smiling at her directly, or even Hotch's hovering.

They climbed and crested a hill, and started down the steep decline that lead closer to the river. It was a bit of a difficult height, but they all managed it relatively easily, with the exception of Strauss. The woman's heels weren't exactly conducive to hiking. No one moved to coddle her.

Calvert led them to the cordoned off area where the bodies were located. They had been nestled like Russian dolls, one directly on top of the other.

What was most horrific was the way they'd been skinned. Strauss had to look away. Had to move away. Hotch knew almost immediately this was like nothing the woman had ever seen before. He grabbed her arm and turned her, blocking the grotesque view. She looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"How do you do it?" Strauss asked, huskily. "How can you look at them day after day?"

"Somebody needs to. Those bodies are someone's mothers, wives, and sisters. If we don't do it, who will?" Hotch said honestly. He could sense the members of his team as they inspected the scene from outside the forensic tape. "It's never easy. Never. If you need to, you can go back to the vehicles. JJ could probably use the help with any rubberneckers or bystanders. No one of us will think any less of you if you choose not to see this."

"No. I need to see this through." Strauss said. His words that those bodies were someone's mothers hit her unbelievably hard. What would it do to her children if they came out of their school and she wasn't there waiting for them?

"Take deep breaths. Try to distance yourself as much as you can. If you need to look away at any time, do it. If this doesn't touch you in some way, it should. Don't forget that you are human, too."

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner." Strauss whispered, squaring her shoulders. "I think we have a killer to catch."

"Yes, ma'am. We do." Hotch turned around and led her over to Morgan, Sidle, and Emily. They stood nearly forty feet away, staring up into the trees over the dump site.

A hunting blind was built about thirty feet up. Foliage nearly hid it completely from view.

"Is that supposed to be there?" Emily asked, one hand shielding her eyes from the early morning sun.

"I don't think so, ma'am." A nearby forestry agent heard the question. "This is recreational, not hunting area."

"So if it's not supposed to be there, why is it?" Strauss wondered aloud. "And how the hell you get up there?"

"Probably like this." Emily said, softly. "Derek, give me a boost."

"Gotcha." Morgan wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, raising her just enough that she could grab a low hanging branch.

Strauss and the men below watched as she nearly effortlessly pulled her feet up and then her upper torso. They watched as she moved from branch to branch until she reached the hunting blind.

"So he's most likely male, and at least my height." Morgan said. "No shorter."

He easily jumped and grabbed the branch that had been slightly out of Emily's reach. He quickly followed her path. "Relatively fit enough to pull his upper body weight initially into the tree. Hotch, man. He could probably have seen the last two dump sites from here, easily. We're on a bit of a hill."

"So…he returns to the bodies." Reid postulated, having hurried over at seeing his two team mates climbing like monkeys. "And what?"

"Relives the experience." Hotch said. "While you two are up there, anything that stands out—other than the view."

"Nails are hit in at a left-handed angle. So he's most likely left-handed." Morgan called down.

"Joints are precise, boards are flush. He's a relatively skilled carpenter." Emily added, she lay down on her stomach after ensuring their wasn't much forensic evidence to be disturbed, and looked over the side at the people staring up at her from below. "The underside's well constructed. It's a very sturdy piece, and I doubt it's been here that long. The wood doesn't appear to be weathered at all."

"Less than two, three months, tops." Morgan agreed, moving into a similar position as Emily. "Nothing special about the wood or the hardware, Hotch. Could have been purchased at any lumber yard."

"Come down, now. We'll head over to the field office." Hotch ordered, "And the other sites. Check for any similar structures or was this his only vantage point. And be careful! You don't need any more injuries!"

"Yes, sir." Emily called down. "Morgan's coming first!"

"Why me?"

"Because if I fall, I want something soft to land on!" Emily snarked at him. Then she whispered. "I don't want them _all _staring at my ass as I climb down, Derek! What's going on with them? Am I releasing different pheromones or something? What? Tell me?"

"Well, Calvert had a thing for you last time we were here, right?" The man whispered quickly. "And who knows about Sidle…just quit smiling so pretty at every one, hear me? I don't think Hotch can handle it."

"So it's my fault?" Emily said, watching as the man moved to the first branch down. "How like a man!"

"What can I say, babe. You're a hot woman!" He teased. "Be careful here, this branch isn't the most sturdy. Use your left hand, you should still be wearing that air cast on your right, you know. It's only been two weeks!"

"Yeah, yeah. It chafed, ok. Besides, I'm ok. Be careful, Derek. I need you to protect me from _them." _She whispered theatrically as she began to follow him.

"So I'm harmless? From where I'm standing, Em, I've got the best view in the house." He raised his eyebrows leeringly, as he looked up at her from his position slightly below. "Its definitely worth fighting for. And don't worry, girl, don't I always have your back?"

"Morgan, just get down there." Emily ordered, loud enough for the crowd below to hear. "Why is the climb down so much worse then the one up?"

"Because you can't really see where you're going, Emily.Watch your hand!"" Reid called up, earnestly. "It's the fear of the unknown. Most people have an innate fear of falling—especially women.

"Thanks, Reid. That's really reassuring me." Emily said.

"Hey, you're the one that climbed up there!" The good doctor said. "You're trying to do your Wonder Woman impression again, aren't you?"

"Reid, honey, do you even know who Wonder Woman is?" Emily called down. She was about halfway down the tree.

"Of course I do." Reid said indignantly as Morgan held on to the lowest branch then hopped down lightly. "I read all the comic books for the first time when I was like four. I mean, they're full of highly improbable actions, but I can see where young children might be enthralled."

"So Prentiss as Wonder Woman, huh?" Derek snickered, watching the woman's descent. "Somehow I can see that."

"Don't you all have something _else _you could be doing?" Emily asked as she straddled the lowest branch. The jump was going to be a much bigger feat for her than for Morgan. She didn't have the upper body strength to let her self just hang and let go like he did.Pencil arms. Plus that damned roof collapsing in California had sprained her dominant arm, and despite what she'd told Morgan, it did still hurt.

"Hey, girl. Just slide on down." Morgan ordered, understanding her dilemma. Knowing her hand was bothering her--even if she'd not admit it. "I'll catch you."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Emily said, as she rolled onto her stomach gingerly and pushed off the branch, letting herself freefall the fifteen feet down.

Morgan caught her easily, then lowered he the rest of the way to the ground. After she was down the agents formed a small circle and went over what they knew.

"He's athletic, at least five foot ten or eleven. Craftsman-type. Used to working with his hands, and pretty strong." Emily began softly.

SSA Sidle moved in closer to hear her words better. And to smell her hair, to remove the horrible stench of death that had lingered after his first sight of the bodies. He'd seen dead bodies before, but nothing quite that horrific.

He'd rather smell strawberries. So he did, subtly. So subtly only Morgan noticed, Morgan and Hotch. Emily herself didn't catch what the man was doing, so caught up in her thoughts as she was.

"He has an attachment to his victims, if only after they've been buried." Reid continued. "I'm not sure why he is burying in groups of three, though."

"Calvert, I want to see the other two sites." Hotch said. "Reid, I want you to accompany JJ and Garcia. I want you working on victimology. Something about these women appealed to him. Captured his interest, his obsession. We _need _to know what it is and quickly. Morgan, Prentiss, Sidle, Ramierez, and I will check out the other sights and meet at the field office when we are done."

"Most likely some sort of hunter." Reid added, looking at the bodies as they were bagged by the local medical examiners. "Skinning a hundred pound being isn't an easy—or unskilled task."

"All his victims were white, so he's most likely a white male. Probably in the same age range or slightly older than his victims." Emily thought aloud. She rubbed her hands over her upper arms as she talked. It was an unconscious gesture, one she made when she was thinking, and Hotch recognized it for what it was. "He's a mixed serial killer. The manner in which the bodies were disposed of indicates preplanning and attention to routine, and detail. But the manner in which he abducts his victims—shouts disorganization . The running vehicle is a clear indication of that."

"It also screams of sexual sadism." Reid added. "The medical examiners said there was some foreign fluid and signs of forced penetration."

"He's most likely in his early forties." Hotch modified Emily's early hypothesis. "It's a little too early to tell, but he'd most likely fit an organized nonsocial typology. He has stable relationships, might even be married. He'll drive a truck—not new but not old. It'll be a brag item, so he'll keep it in perfect shape, clean, neat. He'll clean it up after every murder."

"He has to have someplace to keep the bodies. The first trilogy of women went missing six weeks ago. They're bodies were found three weeks ago. Those bodies hadn't been in the ground for three weeks. Original medical examiners placed the time of death on Melinda Carmichael and Tara Ann Seymour at approximately half that." Reid rambled on.

"Someplace off the path, isolated." Emily said, turning and scanning the area. "He wouldn't want to stray too far. He's got to come back to this spot. It drives him. He has to be with them whenever he can."

"He can't help himself." Hotch continued. "But there are also signs of staging. The way he positions the body, the way he nestles them almost lovingly into each other indicates some vague hints of _undoing."_

"Undoing?" Calvert asked.

"Undoing involves a vague attempt to almost undo or make restitution for the crime. It's a part of _personation. _Leads into his signature." Emily explained quickly.

"The truck will be dark in color, black, navy, dark green." Morgan added. "Something that won't stand out as extremely flashy, but it won't be a truck that blends into the woodwork either. Most likely it's only two or three years old."

"Let's head back to the vehicles. Get Garcia looking for dark colored trucks, local, with registered owners in the thirty-five to fifty age range."

"That'll be like thousands." Calvert said, overwhelmed.

"Yes, and with each bit of the profile, we'll be able to narrow it down even further." Hotch said as the group started up the ragged hill. He offered an assisting hand to Strauss, knowing better than to offer one to Emily like Calvert and Sidle had. If she needed help, she'd ask for it. At least on the job. "I want to head to the next scenes, Calvert."

"Yes, sir." Calvert said.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Emily stood almost shoulder to shoulder with Hotch as they both looked up at the hunter's blind built neatly over the first dump site. It was more than two miles from the most recent site. She, Hotch, and Sidle had accompanied Calvert to the first site, while Morgan and the rest of the party went first to the field office to drop off Strauss, JJ, and Garcia, before heading to the second dump site.

"Guess I'm going up there, too?" Emily asked rhetorically. It was either her or Calvert, and since the field agent wasn't a profiler—that left her. Hotch and Sidle just weren't tree-climbing material in their regulation Bureau blue suits.

Hotch really needed to pack some goin' outdoors kind of clothes in that ready bag of his.

"If you would." Hotch said, drolly.

"I'll need a boost." She said softly. "Think you can give me a hand?"

"No problem." Hotch said, softly. He wrapped his hands around her waist, feeling the heat of her body through the thin cotton of her lavender shirt. He lifted, pulling her body against his and then up.

Emily's hands wrapped around the bark of the branch and she pulled her body up, using all her strength plus the momentum from Hotch's lift to help propel her slightly. This climb was a bit more difficult than the previous, and her right wrist let her know it. She probably shouldn't have removed the cast yet.

"It's not as clean, Hotch. The carpentry's as good, but the joist to the tree is sloppier. But the wood is more aged. I think this is an earlier build." Emily called down.

"Anything stand out?" Hotch called up.

"Yeah. I can see the dump site and about a mile radius. Just like the last site." Emily lay down on her stomach and inspected the blind's underbelly before standing again. "Hey Hotch!"

"Yeah?" He called back up, looking at her as she stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread above him and the other two men. She did look like a more modern day Wonder Woman. Yet another fantasy for him to add to his collection. He dreamed about her nightly. Hot dreams, dreams he couldn't forget. Dreams he had every intention of turning into reality, and soon. As soon as she gave him the word.

"This guy is methodical, right?" Emily yelled down. "Burying three to a grave. Within a certain distance, building a vantage point to overlook at least two sites, right?"

"Go on."

"Hang on, I'm coming down." Emily moved to the back of the blind, and began gingerly making her way down. Trying not to think of the three men watching her every move. She reached the last branch and looked at her supervisor. He held up his arms and she dropped, having complete faith in him to catch her.

He did. But he didn't release her nearly as fast as Derek had only a few hours earlier. She finally pulled back slightly, her dark eyes meeting his. They were both hyper aware of each other in that instant. No waffling, no two week deadline, no skating around the issue, no worry about his career, about hers. All that was in existence was him and her. She knew how he felt, and he knew how she felt. No more playing games. No more of the time she'd insisted she needed to think.

Then SSA Sidle moved closer to the pair and the mood was shattered as quickly as it arrived. "You thought of something, Agent Prentiss?"

"I think we should have more bodies." Emily said definitively. "Everything about these scenes speaks to a strict adherence to a routine. We wouldn't find six bodies within sight of one blind, but only three near another. We need to head back to the first scene. It's not finished."

"Are you sure?" Calvert asked, with dread. If she was right—three more women were never coming home. And it was on his watch.

"Almost positive." Emily stepped away from Hotch and turned toward Calvert. "Check relatively the same distance as between the first two sites. Approximately half a mile, wasn't it?"

"But why were three of the bodies nearly directly beneath the blind, but three others almost half a mile away?" Sidle asked, thinking.

"We don't know yet." Hotch said. "If we find more bodies, it may tell us the answer."

"God, I hope we don't." Calvert said, as the small band of agents returned to their vehicle. Calvert spoke into a radio, calling in more search teams, and search dogs.

"Emily, call Garcia, have her check for any more missing women who fit the general victimology." Hotch ordered, as Emily climbed into the rear seat with Agent Sidle.

"Sure thing."

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

Reid, Garcia and JJ—with some actual help from Unit Chief Strauss—worked almost tirelessly at the station. JJ put all the information on the case board they'd requested, along with photos of the victims and witness or family statements. Reid studied and restudied every evidentiary clue. Garcia ran database after database, hoping for a magic bullet, or at least a short-list of names.

They didn't really have much to go on. The remaining team members arrived nearly six hours later, and all studied the board for a moment.

"Did you find anything?" JJ asked, sitting in the most comfortable chair in the place. One of the younger agents in the field office had offered it to the obviously pregnant young woman. Her feet rested on the nearest trash can. Nobody complained, especially once they saw how hard she'd worked on the victimology.

"Three more bodies, right where Agent Prentiss suggested they might be." Bill Calvert said, dejected, exhausted. "And nothing more to go on."

"That's not entirely true." Emily said, touching the man briefly on the shoulder. "We have a beginning profile."

"You ready to present?" JJ asked.

"Just to this group. We have a lot of narrowing down to do first." Hotch said. "Reid, what did you all determine from victimology?"

"Blitz attacks, crime of opportunities. No one really saw anything, so all we can go on is he sees the woman, alone, comes up behind her and forces her to go with him." Reid said. "All the women involved were slightly above average height. Relatively similar builds. Hair approximately shoulder length. That's it."

"So he's not really preferential, other than body type and height." Morgan said. Calbert reentered, hustling in a crowd of a dozen more agents. "Hotch, you want to begin?"

"We are looking for a white male." Hotch began. "At least 5 ft 11. Probably taller."

"Average looking. So unremarkable that he can abduct 12 women and not leave a single person behind who remembered him." Emily added. "He's most likely in his early forties. Probably, relatively tanned and with a healthy physique. Maybe even attractive, but not remarkably so. Superficially charming, even."

"This man has no trouble fitting in to social groups, provided they don't require too much effort from him. He's all about appearances." Derek said.

"He'll have a truck, a 2003 or newer model. Dark exterior, dark interior. He'll keep it clean, neat, detailed, but it won't be a stereotypically flashy vehicle." Hotch added from where he stood between Emily and Derek. "He is, however, a stereotypical male. Athletic, outdoorsy, a real _man's man _persona. Nobody will doubt his sexual orientation."

"He'll most likely be in a serious relationship." Emily added. "A long term commitment. He most likely has children."

"How do you know this?" One of Calvert's younger—and more abrasive—agents smirked. He hadn't been on the team the last time the BAU had been present. "Some psychic give you tips? Tell you the lottery numbers, too?"

"SA Edwards!" Calvert barked, so loudly Emily jumped slightly. "Apologize to _Supervisory _Special Agent Prentiss."

"I apologize, ma'am." The man said by rote. "No disrespect meant."

"We know this because of the way he nestled each set of victims in the fetal position together. It spoke of a need to comfort the victims—even after he'd killed them." Emily said, looking at the younger agent directly. "And I deal with behavior, not psychics. Behavior's a bit more reliable. And I don't play the lottery—I have no need. Any more questions?"

"Yeah!" Edwards said, rising from his seat and moving to stand directly in front of her. "You're telling us you all know the color of the guy's vehicle and the color of his skin. Why can't you give us a name? How 'bout a license plate number?"

"Take a seat!" Hotchner ordered, in the coldest tone of voice he reserved only for the worst of serial killers. He moved to a more aggressive body position, though he didn't insert himself between his agent and Calvert's. It would lessen her authority in the belligerent agent's eyes. This was her battle, and one she had fought before. And would fight again.

"I just want the question answered." SA Edwards said, shrugging. He liked being the center of this little mini-drama. "If the Special Agent can answer, why won't she?"

"If you'll sit down, Edwins." Emily said, not backing down an inch. She'd been challenged by this type before, and had fading bruises to prove it. Some men just couldn't handle a woman in law enforcement—especially when she was ranked higher than he. "We are not finished."

Everyone in the room held their collective breaths, waiting for the man to do as he was ordered by an obviously superior agent. Edwards must have realized he wasn't going to win, that he didn't matter much in the scheme of things, and he withdrew, settling back down into his chair.

The rest of the profile was delivered more smoothly, Morgan and Hotch ensuring that Emily dominated the presentation. It was vitally imperative for the BAU that every agent be respected, and she'd handled herself beautifully.

Hotch hadn't liked it though. The more primitive part of him had wanted to growl at the other man until he knew not to challenge the alpha—male or female. But the saner part of him prevailed, though it had been difficult.

Why did Emily Prentiss bring out the more primitive, the more alpha version of him—more so than Hayley ever had?

Odd—considering that Emily Prentiss had held her own with both terrorists and the nation's worst serial killers. She didn't need him nearly as much as Hayley ever had. Yet he wanted to protect her far more than he ever had Hayley—both protect her from danger and from other males.

What was he becoming? What was this obsession for her doing to him?


	3. Chapter 3

HOPE THREE

(This will also be case fic but well, it just had to happen this way. The poor man has waited long enough, I think...enjoy!)

_Vaclav Havel said:_

_  
Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good._

Emily woke swiftly, hand reaching for her lamp beside her hotel bed. She'd drawn the short straw. Erin Strauss occupied the other bed, and Emily was less than thrilled with the arrangement.

Except for the fact that having the woman peering over her shoulder delayed the inevitable. Her two weeks was up, and she _knew_ Hotch was ready for her answer. That he was waiting impatiently. It was in the way he lingered by her side, the way his hand brushed hers, the way his eyes had burned when he watched her. The way his knee had nudged hers under the table in the restaurant. The way his fingers had trailed down her arm when he thought no one was looking.

But that was the only good thing to having Strauss in the hotel room. It was the older woman who'd made the sound that had ripped Emily from a rather pleasant dream featuring soft sand, and kissing waves. And a tall, dark-eyed man sharing that beach with her.

She refused to admit to herself that that man bore an unbelievable resemblance to Aaron Hotchner.

Her two weeks was up, and she still hadn't decided what she wanted.

The sound came again, redirecting Emily's attention to what had woken her from her dream in the first place. Erin Strauss was shifting restlessly, and Emily knew exactly what was the cause.

Emily was faced with a dilemma. She could leave the woman alone and spend the rest of the night watching her suffer—or she could have compassion for what the woman was most likely experiencing.

Emily had her own horrific nightmares, and knew it was a real _bitch _to deal with them alone.

Emily couldn't watch anyone fight monsters alone—even in dreams.

It was why she'd taken the job at the BAU in the first place. Why she'd given up her own Chicago team to relocate to Washington.

"Chief Strauss." She called in a firm voice. "Chief Strauss, you need to wake up now."

The older woman's eyes flew open, wide and bewildered, darting around the room, terrified. It took her a moment to realize where she was. "Oh. Agent Prentiss."

"Nightmares are a bitch, aren't they?" Emily asked, rhetorically. Non-judging. "Especially after a day like today."

"Did I wake you?" Strauss asked, disconcerted. "I apologize."

"You didn't wake me, ma'am. I have my own nightmares." Emily said, bluntly. "I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a stretch."

"How do you deal with them?"

"I have a cat." Emily told her, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing. "If that doesn't help, I write in a journal. Sit and stare at the lights below my condo. Call a friend, Derek or JJ. Cry. Whatever works that night."

"Do you…get them often?"

"Depends on the cases. At least weekly. Sometimes nightly."

"I stepped on the victim's hair. The Joseph Smith case." Strauss admitted, her guard down.

"I dream of that case, too." Emily admitted. "If you don't, that's when you should be worried. We see the most horrible aspects of human kind—more so than many Bureau agents—almost every day. We can't let it show during the day. It comes out at night. Of all of us. Every one of us has nightmares. Morgan, Reid, Garcia, JJ. Me."

"All of you?"

"Well, I know I do, JJ and Garcia, Spencer. Morgan. Rossi. I've held his hand at the hospital when he woke up screaming. I don't know about Hotch, but I'm sure he probably does." Emily said, slipping her feet into her shoes as best she could with the damned air cast back on her wrist. Time for a snack break.

Erin pondered her words for a quick moment. If the younger woman had been sleeping with Aaron Hotchner—wouldn't she know if he had nightmares?

Maybe they weren't breaking the bureau rules, after all.

"Agent Prentiss, I'd appreciate if this remains between us."

"Of course, ma'am. In this job, you learn to respect secrets. I'm going to find the vending machines and hang out in the lobby. They have Reese's pieces in this hotel. Would you like to go?"

"Thank you, but no. I think I will email my children and my husband." Strauss watched the younger woman leave, noticed how vulnerable Agent Prentiss actually appeared in a loose t-shirt and baggy sweats. And bright pink house-slippers.

The color almost made her smile, it was something her daughters would have chosen. It was incongruous with the image Erin had formed of the younger woman as a professional agent through and through.

What secrets was the younger woman hiding?

EMILYPRENTISSAARONHOTCHNEREMILYPRENTISSAARONHOTCHNER

Emily crept down the hall as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb the other guests. She rapped twice on Derek's door—the pre-arranged signal that he insisted on whenever she left her room at night—as she went by.

Wandering the hotels probably wasn't the wisest of past-times. People were much more vulnerable when traveling—she knew all that, and could probably ask Reid for the exact percentage of victims who traveled. But it helped—sometimes.

She raided the vending machines, buying the last two packages of Reese's pieces, and deciding to save one for the morning. Then headed down the steps to the lobby. She knew from experience the hotel staff often burned a fire in the elaborate stone hearth in the center of the lobby.

Curling up in front of a warm fire sounded irresistible to Emily. She settled onto the large leather sofa with a soft sigh, pulling her knees to her chest.

She'd learned long ago to find her peace wherever she found herself. Tonight was no exception. Sometimes, it was harder than others. Tonight wasn't one of those times, thank God.

Hotch found her staring into the flickering flames over an hour later. She didn't hear him approach, didn't see him pause just inside the lobby—watching her.

It was nearly three a.m. and she should have been in bed. He'd been awake when Strauss had called, telling him Prentiss had left their room over an hour earlier.

He'd caught Derek just coming out of his room, intent on finding their wayward ghost. He'd sent the younger man back to bed—stating he'd find her and take care of her.

Morgan hadn't argued. He thought this thing between his colleagues was good. Both men had a good idea where she was. She'd done this before.

"Emily?" He sad, softly.

She must have sensed his presence, because she didn't startle. Didn't turn to look at him. Just stared. "There's something so peaceful about a three a.m. fire, don't you think?"

"Hmm. Yes, I do." He sank down onto the sofa beside her. "My apartment has a fireplace."

"So does my condo. But I've never used it." Emily admitted, shifting closer to him unconsciously. In the last month, he'd somehow become a source of security for her—especially in the middle of the night.

"No desire?" Hotch moved his arm behind her back, pulling her even closer. Pillowing her head on his chest. He dropped a kiss to her hair, so light he didn't even know if she felt it.

"Seems like a lot of work for one woman and an indifferent cat." Emily sighed, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

He still made her nervous, more so now that he'd made no move to hide how he felt. Aaron Hotchner on the prowl was something she'd seen before—but never before had she been the prey.

And if she was honest with herself, having that intensity turned on her was more than damned sexy. It was downright burning.

The man should have a patent registered on intense heat.

"I know. When I am home, I most often have Jack. A fire's not that great of an idea." Hotch said, aware of her pressed so closely against him, soft and sleep rumpled.

"Probably not." Emily said. She'd kicked her slippers off long before he'd found her and she wiggled her toes against the soft leather.

Hotch watched those toes and finally understood why some men had foot fetishes.

"So why aren't you sleeping?" She asked, unaware of the shift in his thinking.

"Strauss. She called, but I was already awake. She said you went out for candy and never came back. Actually seemed concerned." Hotch wrapped one hand around her waist and pulled her over his lap, tucking her head on his opposite shoulder, thrilling when she didn't make a single move to resist. They sat there for a while, watching the flames—her on his lap, his hand running lazily up and down her spine.

Emily had noticed that when not on the clock, so to speak, Hotch loved to touch. One hand on her back, her shoulder, around her waist. In her hair. Always touching.

"I forgot about her." Emily admitted, softly. "JJ and Garcia—they only worry if I'm gone for more than an hour or so. It never occurred to me that Straus would wait up."

She actually felt guilty for worrying the woman.

"I explained the ghost of the hotel to her." Hotch said. "Told her not to worry or wait up."

They all dealt with cases in their own ways.

"So what's bothering you?" Hotch asked, hand dipping slightly in the waistband of the black sweats, the same pair she'd stolen from Derek months ago. "The case?"

"Partially." Emily admitted, closing her eyes, breathing him in. "Agent Calvert made a point to ask me to have breakfast with him in the morning."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No." Emily said. "But I hated to disappoint him."

"You turned him down." She missed his smile, but she didn't miss the way his arms tightened around her. The last two weeks had brought a lot of changes in their dynamics. Changes she still wasn't sure about.

"Of course." She wasn't the type of woman to agree to a date with one man when another had her in such knots.

"You didn't have to." He told her, firmly.

"I wanted to." Emily insisted. "I don't do well, casual dating. I never know what to talk about."

"Can't exactly talk about the job, right?" He had never been able to mention the job to Hayley. She'd never wanted to hear any of it. So after a while, what was there to talk about, besides Jack? Not much.

"Exactly." Emily sighed, her hand fisting in the t-shirt covering his chest.

It was something he'd noticed she did whenever she was almost asleep. Her hands would fist, almost an unconscious preparation for that battle that just sleeping was for her.

"I hated that. I could never really talk about what we saw, never with Hayley. She said it depressed _her." _Hotch said, voicing what he was the most bitter about in his marriage. "So the only people I could…"

"Was the members of the team. And a leader cannot appear weak. But what about you?" Emily asked, drowsily.

"Hmm?" Hotch was distracted by the way she was snuggling closer unconsciously. God, he'd missed holding her while she slept these past two weeks. It had been a long time since the Nortan Springs, California case. Since he'd slept beside her in the middle of the hotel room the team had been sharing. Since he'd held her to his chest and dreamed of what he'd do to her when they were finally alone.

"If it depressed your wife—what about you?" He felt her words against his neck, and he shivered slightly.

"With Hayley, what happened at the office was to stay at the office. No matter what."

"But it doesn't, does it?" Emily wove her fingers through his and he raised their hands to rest on his chest, beside her cheek. "Sometimes it's waiting for the moment you close your eyes. Waiting until your finally vulnerable."

"And then you wake up, and you're alone." Hotch added, slightly in awe that it was so _easy _to talk to her about it. Dave had been right, telling him he'd only have to be one man with Emily.

"That's why I got the cat. Rather, why Morgan insisted I get the cat."

"But you can't take Kurt on cases with you. So you haunt the hotel." He trailed soft kisses across her brow. Across her cheek. She didn't protest, just sort of sighed, moved closer, if possible. Relaxed against him, totally.

"Pretty much." Emily was almost out, her words stretched out and breezy. Hotch smiled, thrilled at how she'd trusted him. "So why were you awake?"

"Dreams." Hotch whispered as he watched her.

"Bad ones?" She murmured into his chest.

"No, Emily. Really good ones." He said against the dark curls. "Dreams and strawberries."

"You love strawberries." She told him, her words one last warm sigh against his neck.

"Yes, I do. Sleep." He whispered. "Tomorrow comes early."

REIDGARCIAJAREAUMORGAN

Reid and Garcia found them asleep on the leather couch an hour and a half before they were scheduled to meet in the lobby. Hotch's hand was splayed over Emily's back, holding her tightly to him. Her dark hair hung over his arm, and her casted wrist lay behind his head.

"What should we do with them?" Reid's voice squeaked. This was not something he'd ever expected to be part of his job description.

"Wake them up before Strauss finds them." Garcia shrugged, pulling her cell from her pocket and taking several scandalous images.

"Me? No! You do it!"

"Do what?" Morgan asked from behind the pair. "Oh, well. Damn. Can we say about damned time? They've been dancing around each other for weeks."

"How long do you think they've been there?" Garcia asked. It was one thing for them to _have _to share a hotel bed in California, another for half the team to find them voluntarily wrapped close in each other's arms.

"Who knows?" Morgan shrugged. "But we need to get Em up in her room ASAP!"

"Oh my god!" Another yelp sounded from behind Morgan. They turned to see JJ, hands clutching both a package of crackers and a bag of gummy worms. She'd obviously hit the vending machines. "Go Em!"

"Go Hotch." Morgan corrected emphatically, ignoring the tiniest flicker of envy. "For a man who's not dated in two decades, he'd doing pretty damned good for himself."

"Are you all done?" Hotch's voice caused them all to jump guiltily.

"Uh, yes, sir." Garcia gulped. "But sir, Emily needs to get upstairs before Strauss realizes she's missing."

"I told Strauss she's with you and JJ." Hotch said. "She called me last night after Emily left the room and didn't return."

"I thought you'd find her and send her _back." _Morgan said.

"How long has she been—you know…asleep down here?" JJ asked, waving a hand emphatically.

"Since about four, I think." Hotch shifted slightly so he could stand more easily—without waking her. "I don't actually remember falling asleep, myself."

"Somebody should wake her up!" JJ said. "But I don't think it would be a good idea if everybody's staring at her!"

"You've got ten minutes, Pen." Morgan decided. "I'll go guard the hallway. JJ—you go to your room and watch from there. Reid—you go find Sidle and his boy."

Morgan, Reid, and JJ all hurried out. Hotch was more than a little reluctant to go, but Penelope wasn't taking any chances with Emily and Strauss. She gave him a penetrating look and he turned to go. He startled her when he spun around and demanded, "Is it wrong?"

"Sir?" Garcia asked, puzzled.

"Closeness, between us." Hotch nodded at Emily. He respected Penelope and her opinion. Knew that she knew Emily probably as well as JJ or anyone else on the team did.

"You're asking _me _if fraternization is wrong, sir? I'm probably not the best one to ask." Penelope admitted. "But I think that we are all close. It's natural, I think. You all depend so much on each other, for your lives, everything. But you and Emily? You're the superheroes, I guess, almost invincible. You fit each other, I think. Of course, I'm not a profiler, but anyone who knows either of you can see it. But I think you'll have to be _very _careful. Probably more so than me and Kevin."

"Thanks, Garcia." Hotch said, "I appreciate your honesty. You'd best wake her up."

Garcia watched him look down at her friend one more time, flashing back to that day a little more than two weeks ago when he'd stared down at a bruised and sleeping Emily, with such an intense look on his coldly handsome face. "Hey, handsome!"

"Yes?"

"Emily would be the first to admit she doesn't do well at _dating. _Not in the traditional way."

"You think?" Was Garcia right? Emily had more experience than he in the world of dating. He'd seriously dated two women in his life, Hayley and the girl before. And that had been years ago. He knew from just general office gossip Emily'd dated at least that many men since joining the BAU.

"She's not that comfortable with herself as an attractive woman, while on the job. And with a person like Emily—when is she not on the job? She downplays, probably has always had to. It could be dangerous if she doesn't, you know? After a while, it's ingrained. You need to show her the opposite, especially while on the job."

"I do think she's an attractive woman on or off the job. She, you, JJ—you're all some of the most beautiful, attractive, funny women." He said, in a rare moment of open honesty. He didn't miss the expression that spread over the tech's face.

"Thanks, handsome. We love you, too." Garcia said, putting a hand on the sleeping woman's shoulder. "It's nice to hear it spoken."

"I'll take your advice in mind, Penelope. And thanks." Hotch said, turning and strolling determinedly out of the lobby.

Garcia watched him a moment, a smile on her pretty face. "Anytime, Superman."

EMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCH

Emily's day was ass-backwards from the very beginning. The looks she'd received from her teammates disconcerted her. The new lack of tension between her and Strauss disconcerted her. Aaron Hotchner disconcerted her.

He'd shown up at their door just as Emily was about ready to head down to meet the rest of the team. Said he'd wanted to walk her down to breakfast, that they had something to talk about. He was freshly showered and shaved, his regulation suit a charcoal gray, his neatly tied tie a warm blue. He looked good, smelled good, and a part of Emily wondered if he'd taste good, too.

"Ma'am." He'd greeted Strauss. "Agent Prentiss."

"Agent Hotchner." Strauss wasn't blind to the undercurrents running between the two, as she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the room.

"Sir." Emily greeted, her voice wary, as she eyed him.

"The rest of the team's in the lobby, Chief Strauss. They're planning on finding breakfast first. Prentiss and I will join you all shortly." Hotch said, his fingers wrapping unobtrusively around Emily's elbow. Squeezing lightly.

"Excellent." Strauss said, watching the younger woman's face for any sign of reluctance. Agent Prentiss looked at her calmly, not betraying any secrets.

Strauss had figured it out at four thirty a.m. Emily Prentiss wasn't the only woman who craved chocolate after nightmares.

She'd seen her temporary roommate cradled in the supervisor's arms. And _he'd _been asleep with the most peaceful expression she'd ever seen on his face in the six years she'd worked with him.

It was one of the first real signs she'd ever seen that he was actually human inside that regulation suit.

She'd have to think about that, she thought to herself as she walked away, leaving the dark-haired pair behind.

Emily watched the older woman walk around the corner before turning toward her supervisor. "Are you insane?"

"Depends on the legal definition of insane." Hotch admitted, backing her further into her room. "We were supposed to have a little talk, weren't we?"

"Now?" Emily yelped. "With Strauss just around the corner. You _are _insane!"

"And you're nervous." Hotch said. "Are you afraid of me, Emily?"

"No." She answered immediately. "I'm not. But this, this is completely out of my realm of experience. Where do we even go from here?"

"Have you made up your mind that you want it to go somewhere? Or are we stalling right here?" Hotch demanded as he moved her enough to close the room door, lock it, back her against it—knowing his next move hinged on her answer. "Go forward or call quits?"

"I don't think either one of us can quit, Hotch." She whispered. They were too aware of each other at all times. There was no way it could go back to the way it was.

"Thank God!" He breathed, hand tangling in her hair. She'd left it down, and it was slightly damp, curling. "Thank God!"

He tipped her head back and they both knew what was going to happen next. He stared down the small half step that separated his mouth from hers, once more thankful she was a tall woman and he'd not have to bend so awkwardly to kiss her.

She hadn't applied any lipstick, just a touch of berry-flavored balm that he could smell as he leaned in ever so close. Her tongue darted out, a nervous movement that made him smile. Hungrily, predatorily.

He'd be tasting her in seconds. Like he'd been doing in his dreams for what felt like forever.

Emily stared into his dark eyes, the look of intensity burning into her. She felt her breath catch in her throat as he suddenly moved her back against the door, as his left hand came up to grab the muscle of her hip, pull their lower bodies together.

She knew then that this wasn't a simple kiss. That Aaron Hotchner never did anything simple. She whispered his name as his head lowered.

He felt it against his lips, a breezy plea. He wondered if either one of them even knew what she was truly asking for.

Whatever it was, he'd give it to her.

And he did, his lips brushed hers softly, then pressed closer. She could taste the mint of his toothpaste mingling with the berry of her gloss. His tongue darted in, insistent and demanding, no sign of first kiss hesitation. Demanded an equal response from her. He pressed more firmly, demanding an answering response from her again. Demanding.

And she gave in. And held on.


	4. Chapter 4

HOPE

_The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.__  
Joseph Addison_

Emily forgot everything. In that instant, if asked, she'd probably not even remember her own name. All she knew was the feel of his lean body pressing her against the door, of his fingers wrapped in her hair, holding her still.

All she was aware of was his lips pressed so firmly against hers. Of the hand he ran up her side, then down to slide further around her waist to pull her lower body tighter to his.

As his hips ground into hers, she moaned, a deep sound that caused his heart to actually stutter. He dropped the hand fisted in her hair to grip her waist. He lifted her, leaned in even closer, exhilarated when he felt those long, long legs of hers wrapped around his hips. When he felt the air cast on her wrist bump the back of his neck, trying to draw him closer.

His tongue melded with hers, and the sweetness had them both moaning.

"Hotch." Emily said, and he felt it more than heard it. "Hotch, we have to stop. The team. Everyone's waiting."

"God, I know." Hotch pressed his lips to hers once again, before pulling back slightly. "Damn, how I wish they weren't."

He pulled her closer and held her tightly to him for a few more seconds before letting her legs drop to the ground. He brushed the hair off her forehead, moving the curl behind the shell of her ear. "We'll talk later, ok?"

"Talk?" Emily's lips quirked and he felt a rush of heat shoot through him. "Is that what you call it?"

He still heard the underlying tremble beneath her words. "I can think of a few other things to call it. But we really need to get going."

He ran an eye over her, taking in her blue t-shirt tucked neatly into a new pair of charcoal fatigues. Her hair was down, curling, and smelled like strawberries and woman.

Her lips were swollen, red from his kiss, and she'd never looked more beautiful. There was no way anyone on _his _team wouldn't guess exactly what he'd done to her.

"What?" She asked, when he'd stared at her just a little too long.

"Your mouth is swollen, your hair mussed, lip balm is gone."

"You profiling me?" She asked, grabbing her gun belt from the dresser, where she'd dropped it when he'd backed her into the hotel room. She didn't look at him as she wrapped around her waist.

"Just your mouth." Hotch's eyes were hot as he stared at her. "They'll know."

"Are you ok with that?" Was _she? _Emily knew things had changed irrevocably between them, but she wasn't too sure she was comfortable with everyone knowing her business. She'd always been a private person, and knew she wouldn't be entirely at ease being the center of office gossip.

"I'm fine with it." Hotch said, never more honest. "Are you?"

"I don't know." Emily admitted. "It'll be different for me. Innuendos, looks. I don't know if I am ready for that. It's one thing for JJ, Derek, and the others to know. They're family. But Strauss, and those two new agents—I'm not sure."

"I understand." He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. Casually dropped one more kiss on her wide mouth. "So we don't deny, but we don't bring it up."

"That'll work for me." Emily admitted. "But we don't advertise, either. And if this doesn't work—it's our business, no one else's."

"Emily—it will work." They moved into the elevator as they spoke. "I've every confidence."

"I wish I did." She admitted, before they exited the elevator into the lobby. The entire team was waiting, along with Strauss, Sidle, and Ramierez. Emily felt the awkwardness as she moved to greet both JJ and Garcia.

Hopefully the whole damned day wouldn't be as complicated as her morning had been.

Hotch nodded to Sidle and his man, before turning to Derek and Spencer. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir." Morgan answered, eyes not having missed the signs written on both their faces. Hotch's lips were swollen, and the tiniest smudge of something, pink or red in color, rode the corner of the supervisor's mouth. "JJ has decided we're eating breakfast at IHOP."

"Sounds great." Emily said, smiling at her friend. She didn't miss the light of curiosity in either JJ _or _Garcia's eyes.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

They were more than crammed in the booth, Emily plastered between SSA Sidle on one side and Hotch on the other. As she picked at her simple chocolate chip pancakes, she compared the two men. While both were definitely similar, with dark hair, dark eyes, tall, athletically lean builds, serious natures, and nearly identical styles of dress, it was _Hotch _Emily was hyper-aware of.

Of course, was it any wonder? She'd been more than plastered against him less than an hour earlier. She'd felt every inch of the front of her supervisor's body, and it had felt good.

He offered her a bite of his own breakfast, fluffy pancakes covered in a strawberry sauce and she thoughtlessly took it, not even looking at him as she passed him her plate, knowing he'd help her out with the large meal. He carefully slid half her pancakes on to his own plate, and they continued their conversations with Garcia and Derek, barely aware of their own actions.

But no one really missed it—especially the non-members of the team. To the others, it was just another sign of the changing dynamics between the two. To Ramierez, it didn't register as anything more than a curiosity, to Sidle, it was somewhat disappointing, but not surprising. He'd thought to ask the woman out once they'd returned to Washington, but now he had serious doubts she'd say yes.

Pity, he thought, because she was definitely a gorgeous and attractive woman. Who understood the profiling world. Those kind of women were more than a little hard to find, Scott knew. He'd only found one other in his lifetime, and _she'd _rightfully told him to take a hike well over a year ago.

Erin Strauss, uncomfortably pushed in the middle of the booth between Garcia and Reid also saw the unthinking action, and filed it away in her brain—she'd think about it later, _after _watching how they handled the case and the relationship between them. Make her decision then. Would it be best for the BAU to split the pair up? Best for them? Erin didn't know.

What she did know was that Hotchner's team was nearly phenomenal in the way they worked together, and now that she knew he didn't want her place in the unit, she had no qualms leaving him alone to fester for the rest of his career days. And if he wanted to share that festering with the woman under his command, should Erin really give a damn?

Finding someone special was hard enough without the added burden of chasing serial killers, and Erin just couldn't help but thinking that she should just leave the younger two alone. It was easy to see that they did suit each other well, and as long as it stayed out of the BAU, why should _anyone _care?

Why should she?

DEREKJJREIDGARCIAHOTCHEMILYROSSI

Emily was washing her hands in the bathroom sink when JJ and Garcia came in.

"Well." Garcia said, snickering softly. "Have you got some nerve."

"Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do." JJ added, moving in on Emily's other side. "So he kissed you."

It wasn't a question. No one assumed it was. "He kissed me. I kissed him, I think. The details are a little fuzzy."

"And?" Garcia asked, giddy. This was better than she could have imagined, way better than when Emily had been seeing Rossi's brother, Steven. "How was it?"

"Do you really need to know?" Emily asked, rhetorically.

"Come on." JJ urged, "Was it all methodical or was it a blitz?"

"You're likening a kiss to an attack by an UNSUB?" Emily asked, moving to dry her hands. "That's a bit disturbing, Jay. And well, like I said, the details are a little fuzzy."

"Fuzzy because of good, or fuzzy because they're not worth remembering?" Garcia demanded, blocking Emily's path to the door.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Come on, I told JJ about showering with Kevin."

"She also told me how Rossi interrupted." JJ snickered.

"What I didn't tell you was that when Kevin came out of the bathroom he only had one towel—and it was on his hair." Garcia said. "Come on, _spill_."

"Yeah. It's not like we've both not wondered." JJ admitted. "We've figured it out—Spencer'd probably be all awkward, but sweet. Derek—he'll be a swooper, you know, move in quick and skilled. Rossi—we'll, Dave's been married three times. The man has to have some sort of skills. But we couldn't decide on Hotch. But you've actual, practical experience."

"You've given this a lot of thought." Emily said, in a slightly amused tone. "Ok. Fuzzy good. Very good."

"Wow."

"Ohhh, I want details." Garcia clapped her hands, excitedly. "Who made the first move?"

"He did, I think. All I know is I ended up against the door, and I think my legs were around his waist. Are you two happy now?" Emily said quickly.

"Wow."

"This was the first kiss, right?" Garcia asked, "He didn't kiss you in Nortan Springs?"

"First real kiss." Emily answered.

"And it wasn't awkward, messy, or bumbling?" JJ asked. "Impressive."

"Tell me about it." Emily said, "Now can we go back out there, before they send search parties?"

"Spoiler sport!" Garcia said.

"Party pooper." JJ added. "I've got to go, you two wait for me!"

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Strauss had left seconds after Emily, talking into her cell phone as she stepped outside the restaurant for a little privacy. So it was just Hotch and the male agents at the table when Garcia and JJ excused themselves to go to the restroom.

"See, they do that." Spencer said, around the final bite of pancakes he'd filched from Emily's plate. The woman barely ate enough to keep alive in his opinion—even with Hotch eating half, there'd been plenty on the plate for Spencer to steal.

"Do what, kid?" Morgan asked, finishing off his coffee.

"Go in packs. I don't get that. Do all girls do that?"

"Reid, haven't we discussed this before?" Hotch asked, mouth quirking. "Women always go in packs. I have yet to understand it, but JJ, Garcia, and Emily are no different."

"They all do it," Ramierez added, one of the first few times he'd contributed to the breakfast conversation. He was a very quiet man.

"But _why_?" Reid demanded.

"That's one of life's mysteries." Morgan said, having grown up with sisters. "My theory is they're afraid they'll miss an all important part of a conversation—so they take the conversation with them."

"So what is so important this morning that they have to go now?" Reid was honestly puzzled, and it showed on his face.

Hotch smiled at him, thinking of how the boy had changed in the last several years. He'd actually started to fill out some, both face and body losing the painfully thin awkwardness that he'd shown when he'd first joined the team. But some things, like the boy's lack of understanding when it came to women, would never change. "I'm sure it's nothing, Reid. Probably something they'd wanted to talk about last night and didn't get the chance."

"Sure it is." Morgan said, snickering at the other man's face. "That's why they rushed after Emily like a pack of marathoners."

"Something you're implying, Derek?" Hotch's brows rose, almost daring the younger man to comment. Hotch knew Derek felt slightly protective—maybe even a bit possessive—about Emily, and it wouldn't be unexpected for him to challenge Hotch's actions. Insist that he treat Emily right.

"Nothin', man, just that strawberry pink lip balm isn't really your thing—unless there's something you've forgotten to mention." Derek shrugged. It was gone now, but he hadn't missed the small streak of wax. "I don't think JJ or Garcia missed it, man."

"Is this because Hotch kissed _Emily_?" Reid asked, stupefied. "So? Why would they have to talk about that?"

"Is it that obvious?" Hotch asked, looking at the four men surrounding him.

"Hmm." Sidle said, touching one finger to his lips, tapping to illustrate a point. "Kind of hard to miss, Agent Hotchner."

"Well, if you wouldn't mind, Emily would prefer we _not_ discuss it." Hotch's tone was rueful, and Derek—at least—caught the undertones. "She's still a bit unsure. Neither confirm nor deny. At least for now."

"Gotcha, man. But you know they're in there pulling every detail out of her." Morgan said. "Nothing will stay secret with Garcia on the trail."

"I know." Hotch nodded, as the three women rounded the corner. "I couldn't care less—but she does. Needs a little more time."

"Tough break, man." Derek commiserated, then hushed as the three women approached the table. Hotch stood, allowing Emily to slide in front of him, he trailed a hand along her shoulder without thought, just a simple gesture.

She smiled at him as he sat back down, crowding in closer, as Erin Strauss returned to the table. They had half an hour before they had to leave to meet Calvert at the field office.

Emily was more than doubly glad the Portland agent hadn't met them for breakfast—it would have been more than awkward with him there.

The rest of the breakfast finished quickly, plates being cleaned, coffee refilled. Emily laughed at Reid's look of disappointment when he realized both her pancakes and his own were gone. She leaned into Hotch some, and his arm had naturally found its way around her shoulders. His hand twisted in her dark hair, while his free one pulled her non-casted arm across his lap, under the table.

Was he even aware that he was constantly touching her? Emily didn't know. And she honestly didn't care. She'd made her decision, and wouldn't waver, no matter what the consequences. It just was.

And she was pretty sure she was fine with that.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Strauss had to leave, and Emily couldn't help but be relieved. August Parsons—Strauss's assistant—had been the one on the phone, recalling the unit chief to Washington.

No one was really sad to see her go, and Emily felt the greatest relief. As the older woman departed with a Portland agent as driver, Emily felt the weight falling off her shoulders—now she didn't have to worry about their every move being watched, cataloged, and evaluated.

Her smile was a bit brighter when she looked at Hotch. "I think I love August Parsons."

"Bit different from a week ago." Hotch commented as he followed her into the conference room where Agent Calvert and a few of his men waited.

"Ah, but look what he's done for us today." Emily snickered as she took her seat, greeting the Portland agent and his colleagues. Hotch settled into the chair beside her.

"So any new developments?" Hotch asked Calvert, as the rest of the team were seated. A palpable sense of relaxation covered the BAU, and Hotch knew it was because of the recent departure.

"We've determined the new bodies were buried approximately one week after the first ones." Calvert said, looking around the table. Avoiding the eyes of the dark-haired woman. She'd let him down gently after his breakfast invitation, but he still felt the awkwardness of it all. And he'd watched her as she and her team walked down the hall toward the glass-encased conference area. Saw the way she and her supervisor seemed to be continuously drawn together. So he'd drawn his on conclusions.

It made him feel a bit better, knowing that she hadn't lied the night before. She _had _told him she was sort of involved with someone—he just would never have expected it to be the extremely reserved SSAIC Hotchner.

Still, Hotchner was a good guy. And Calvert genuinely liked Agent Prentiss. He wished them luck—but he still felt the disappointment.

"And we've ID'd them." Calvert added, pulling the sheaf of papers from the file in front of him. "All three came from the greater Seattle area."

"So who mailed the pictures?" JJ asked, "And why?"

The pictures were of each of the women bound and gagged, in a small dark space. The light was low, visibility almost non-existent. Garcia had done the best she could, enhancing the shots, but they'd ultimately led nowhere.

"He's reaching out." Emily postulated, "None of the pictures are of these first six women, correct?"

"Right. Just those taken within the last four weeks." Calvert answered. "Is that important?"

"It shows that he was upset that he wasn't being recognized." Hotch said, "So he sent the pictures to the FBI. He could have chosen the Portland PD, but instead chose to send them to the FBI. And after last years' case with Stanley Howard, he might even have targeted you specifically."

"What did he think I could do for him?"

"Get him the attention he thinks he deserves." Morgan said. "But if the first set of women disappeared from the Portland area, and the next the Seattle. And the pictures were mailed from across state lines—he must have known that the FBI would take jurisdiction. So that tells us he's reasonably intelligent."

"Which will make him a little harder to catch." JJ said, eying the files spread around the table. "So what do we do now?"

"Someone needs to go to Seattle. Everyone else will re-interview each witness and family of the other six women." Hotch said. "Morgan, I want you and Reid to stay here. Sidle and Ramierez will accompany you. JJ and Garcia, you'll coordinate everything we find from this office. Emily and I will fly to Seattle today and be back tomorrow night. Calvert, this guy has targeted this office for a reason, I want you to stay with Morgan and Reid and assist in any way you can. And JJ—I want a press conference by five this afternoon. You and Calvert need to brief the city on what's happening."

"And give him the attention he wants?" Morgan asked. "What will that do?"

"Nothing for him. But if he's blitzing women, we need to warn his potential victims." Hotch said, as he stood. "Everyone, I'll want regular updates. We need to move quickly. If he sticks to pattern and keeps these women for at least two weeks, chances are good that he's got some victims right now, who are still alive. Garcia run _all _missing persons, both Portland area and Seattle. We need to identify whomever he might have."

"Yes, sir." Everyone said as they all stood to carry out Hotch's orders.

Emily wondered at his decision to take her to Seattle with him, wondered if it was a good idea. Wondered if he'd made the decision because of her talents as an agent or because he wanted her alone with him.

Dammit, how was she supposed to reconcile her feelings for him with the need to do her job?

This was a bit more complicated than she thought it would be—already.


	5. Chapter 5

HOPE FIVE

_Alan Cohen__** said:**_

_It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power._

Seattle was wet, crowded, and dingy. The suite JJ had booked for Hotch and Emily wasn't any better. Hotch unlocked the door before handing a key card to the silent woman at his elbow. "Here we are."

"Is it pathetic that getting to a hotel actually feels like I'm getting home? How many days have we spent in hotels this year?" Emily asked rhetorically, dropping her bag on foyer's couch. She didn't make a move toward either bedroom—she had no idea whether she was sleeping solo. Where she was sleeping. If she'd be doing much sleeping at all.

That thought tightened her stomach, filled her with a slightly scared excitement. She was most likely about to _sleep_ with her boss.

Maybe. She hadn't really decided yet. They'd been in Seattle for nearly six hours, had interviewed two of the families of the victims, had liaised with the Seattle field office, gaining their full cooperation. All that was left for them to do was find dinner and unwind for the night. Sleep. Whatever else they found to keep themselves occupied before the morning.

It was that _whatever_ that had her tied in knots. She was freaked to her toes, absolutely freaked, as she looked around the non-descript hotel suite. Two bedrooms branched off the small foyer, but Emily had a feeling that regardless of what they did in _that _bedroom, only one room would be used that night.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Hotch asked, casually dropping his own bag beside hers. What he really wanted to do was say _screw_ _dinner_, _screw_ _food_. What he really wanted to do was scoop her up and disappear into one of those bedrooms—it didn't matter which one— throw her down on the bed and do _exactly _what he'd been dreaming about since that night in a chilly South Dakotan barn.

"Hmmm." Emily said, turning toward him, one hand placing an errant curl behind her ear. It was one of the few nervous habits she had and he smiled, knowing the cause of her awkwardness. "I'm not real sure."

Maybe he should just get it out of the way? But then again, he knew anticipation made the excitement so much more intense. He made sure the door was firmly closed and locked behind him, before stepping closer. "Emily."

She turned, looking at him fully, breath catching as he'd spoken. She knew what he was going to do, and she felt the warm curl of heat in her belly. Hotch was so methodical in everything he did, and kissing was no exception. She'd learned that in a Portland hotel room just a few short hours ago.

He ran a hand down the bare skin of her arm, fingers slightly roughened and hot, and grabbed her hand. He used it to pull her closer to him, then pulled her arm behind her, arching her lower body into his. His fingers manacled her wrist, his forearm locked to keep her in place. His other hand joined in to hold her still. To make her vulnerable, to him, and only him. She wasn't going anywhere.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth brushed the soft skin of her neck, as his tongue darted out to taste her. The silk of her hair tickled his cheek, filled his lungs with the sweet scent of strawberries.

He had her hotter than she'd been in months, and his mouth hadn't even touched hers, yet. Emily didn't know if she could survive what would naturally come next. Even his kisses were intense, methodical, deliberate, controlled. Designed to achieve maximum results, to have her weak before him. She felt the trembling shaking her body, felt the heat in her stomach, felt the breath backed up in her lungs.

And his lips hadn't even touched hers yet. "Hotch."

"Yes?" He whispered, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Not too much, too soon, is it?"

"No." Her reply was a deep moan as he used his hands to pull her hips ever so tighter to his. She could feel him, feel the change that had overtaken his body.

She had that much effect on him?

Their lips hadn't even met yet.

Her eyes were closed, so she missed the predatory grin that touched his lips, missed the deep light of lust that illuminated his demon dark eyes. Missed the way that dark head swooped down, closing in on her slightly opened mouth with an intensity that shocked them both.

Then he was kissing her fully, and she thought of nothing else but the feel of his lips on hers, his body pressing into hers, his hand dropping to ride low on her hip.

The other hand released her wrist, freeing her arm to rise behind his head. The other hand, still in that damned air cast, slid around his waist, fisting in the blue cotton of the shirt he favored. She pulled him slightly to her, and then absolutely no space existed between them.

His hand fisted in her dark hair, pulling her head back slightly, arching her neck, exposing her. He dropped his mouth from her lips, running slightly wet kisses over her nape, nipping the delicate flesh of her earlobe. "Emily. God. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do this?"

"Mmmm," She ran her fingers through his short dark hair, body completely relaxed against him.

"Since South Dakota. And then the very next day, in that damned red bikini, strawberry red, do you know I see that bikini every night? And every night it's _me _taking it off of you. Do you know you just dropped those shorts right in front of me? As if I wasn't even there, but I was. And I saw…saw exactly what I was missing. What I wanted to have, _had _to have."

She moaned at his words, thrilled knowing he'd noticed her in that ever-so-tiny bikini she'd worn at Garcia's insistence. She moaned again when his capable hands pulled her shirt from the band of her pants, gasped when she felt the heat of his hands against her skin.

Then the shirt was gone, him giving her no time to protest—if she'd even wanted to protest. Then she stood there in front of him in nothing but charcoal fatigues and a plain, serviceable black bra.

He stepped back, only a little, just enough to look at her, to take in the dark hair he'd mussed with his marauding fingers, to see the lust-softened eyes, the kiss-softened lips. To see the firm body, curved in all the _right _places, separated from him by two small black swatches of material.

He'd have that off of her soon enough. And there was plenty of time. He moved back in, hands moving under her arms just enough to lift her into him, to get her off balance, vulnerable, easily maneuverable. Maneuverable enough for him to back her against the wall, the way he'd fantasized each and every night.

He knew whatever happened between them wouldn't be all sweetness and light. Knew the darkness would be released like the demons of hell—if she'd let him. God, if she'd let him. He wanted hard, and fast, and furious, followed by slow, and controlled, and unending. He wanted it all.

But she wasn't going to be a mere spectator in this battle between them, and her clever hands made short work of his blue shirt, slipping each button one by hurried one, until she could push the cotton off his broad arms. Only a thin cotton undershirt separated her from his skin, and that just wasn't good enough for her.

If Emily Prentiss was going to do this—she was going to do it right. The way she wanted. She mewled low in her throat, pulling the material of the undershirt out of his blue trousers, one hand running feverishly over the hard stomach she'd exposed, fingers ghosting through the tiniest bit of hair that covered his skin.

He pulled back, undershirt going the way of the floor, quickly followed by the black bra. It landed on his left foot and he kicked it away hurriedly. Then she was back in his arms, pressed against him, where he could feel the silk of her skin pressed against him fully for the first time. He ran his lips over her neck, dropping to the top of her shoulder. Bit her lightly, reveling in the shivers that chased through her. Ran his hand up her side, over her chest, squeezing lightly.

"God, Hotch, please!" Her words were a rasp against his ear as his hands dug into the muscles of her thighs and lifted her legs around his waist again. As he drove his hips into hers, letting her feel him fully for the first time.

This was nothing like the semi-sedate, somewhat innocent touches he'd favored her with in California. This was him acting on the promises he'd made over the last few weeks to burn her alive.

And God, was he doing it.

His left hand burned up her side, fisting in the hair at the back of her head, pulling her head back almost painfully, dropping to nip the skin of her neck, returning to sooth the injury before returning to nip her all the harder.

He wanted nothing more than to devour her, and he wanted to make that more than abundantly clear to her before they ever got close to the damned bedroom. "Em—are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Mmm." She pressed her lips to his, her non-casted hand drifting down his back, running over the supple skin. "Yes."

"Thank God." Hotch said, carrying her to the door leading to the bedroom. "Open the door."

She followed his command and it was mere seconds before he had her on the bed before him. He pushed her back, rougher than she'd expected, but it thrilled her, nonetheless. He was on one knee, between her thighs and his weight dipped the bed beneath him, them.

He kissed her again. She kissed him, mouths fighting for dominance, fighting to express all the words they'd not ever been able to say to one another. She tasted of chocolate and sweetness, he of strawberries and heat. His hands were at the button of her pants, sliding them open, sliding the zipper down. Sliding his hand beneath the dark material. Touching the soft silk material beneath.

He retreated, long enough to turn on the bedside light. He wanted to see her, watch her face when he did all the things he'd longed to do to her. She protested, hands reaching for him impatiently and he laughed. Actually laughed, a low, salacious sound that made her shiver. Aaron Hotchner had a wicked side, one that he didn't let free very often, and Emily felt she was about to experience it in every nuance of her being.

And she wanted that with a longing so deep it ached.

He stood looking down at her for only a moment, hand on the fastening to his own pants. She watched as they hit the ground, revealing his navy boxer-briefs. Revealing the shape of what the material covered. He stepped out of his shoes, pulled off his socks, moved to pull her boots off. He pulled her fatigues down so agonizingly slow, revealing her long legs, firm and toned, and the tiniest red panties. Red—like he'd fantasized about.

It took all his control not to leap on the bed, roll her beneath him, and just take all he'd ever wanted from her, right then, right there.

A lifetime of control served him well, in that instant. But barely.

Emily stared at him, dark eyes profiling the toned body, the ever so slight spattering of hair covering his chest. The strong, deceptively powerful arms that had lifted her so effortlessly. And she wasn't a diminutive woman, no she was tall and curvy, athletic. Hotch was one of those men who made his strength seem effortless, and Emily was ready for him to use that strength against her, with her. On her.

Soon, he was completely naked before her, his hand slipping the red panties from her body. Then his hands were everywhere and hers were just as mobile. They were caressing, stroking, kneading. Needing.

She forgot her inhibitions, he forgot his tight rein on his control, and they burned the sheets together.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Three a.m. was always the weakest point for Emily, and that night was no real exception. But this time, she lay awake contemplating the very recent changes in her life, and Aaron Hotchner's role in that life. Contemplated waking him up and them going in search of chocolate, chips, pretzels, anything—together.

She was starving and she put the blame right where it belonged—on those strong, and very much _naked _shoulders. God, how she was sore! Hotch hadn't been just satisfied with that first time; no, he'd let her rest before they'd begun all over again, this time slow and deliberate. The way she'd thought it would be with the coolly reserved man.

Man, had he surprised her. And _damn, _was she sore. And hungry. And…stuck. Hotch lay on his stomach, one arm draped over her middle, holding her tight. Whenever she tried to move the arm—without waking him—he protested, pulling tighter, pulling her closer to him. Snuggling her to him. In a sleep-roughened voice, he whispered. "Shhh, Em. It's ok."

"I know." She said, knowing he wasn't awake, if he was he'd be clear eyed and staring down at her—like he had in California. She smiled at him, reveling in seeing him so vulnerable. Talking in his sleep. Holding her like a child would a teddy bear.

Seeing him so completely naked. For a man in his forties, Hotch was built. She'd always liked the tall, lean type. Strong, deceptively so. That was Hotch. "Hotch. Hotch!"

"Hmm." He moved, finally, pulling his arm off her chest. "Emily?"

"Hey." She smiled softly, suddenly nervous. They'd fallen asleep with the light on, too exhausted to care, and now she wished she'd taken the time to flip the switch.

The light always made secrets more visible, made faults more clear. Made awkwardness…more awkward.

"You ok?" He asked, running one analytical eye over her, even though the cream-hued duvet covered her body from his eyes. "I didn't get too rough, did I?"

"No." Emily actually felt the heat touch her cheeks as she remembered how _rough _it was, and how much she'd enjoyed it. "You weren't too rough."

"So why are you awake? Nightmares?" He rolled over to his side, completely lacking self-consciousness about his nakedness. They were both finally where he wanted them, and clothes were not part of his equation. As he looked at her, he decided blankets weren't part of the equation either—unless they were both completely under them. "You ok?"

"No. I'm hungry." Emily said, emphatically, while wondering just what exactly one was supposed to say after completely mind-numbing sex with one's supervisor. Three times. No—four. No wonder she was sore. Her supervisor wasn't exactly a _gentle _lover. "Desperately need food."

"Really?" Hotch laughed, moving to pull her back down to the pillows. "Wonder if there's any place that delivers at three a.m."

"Vending machines will be fine." Emily told him, primly, willing to let herself be distracted by him. "In a little bit."

He leaned down and kissed her softly, gently sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. "This is better than a three a.m. movie, isn't it?"

"Much." Emily agreed, hands looping behind his neck to pull him closer. "And I love re-runs, sir."

"Yes, ma'am, SSA Prentiss."

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

She had a smudge of chocolate on her lips, Hotch thought, as he lie there beside her watching her sleep. After they'd rolled around a bit, she'd ordered him to get dressed. Insisted she wanted pretzels and Reese's.

Who was he to argue?

They'd devoured their vending machine finds, the fact that they'd missed dinner and their recent physical activities had made them both more than ravenous.

And then she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep beside him, dressed in that red tank top and short gym shorts—just like she had in California. Except this time he didn't have to lie there wondering what was under those clothes. He'd seen it, touched it, tasted it—claimed it.

And the caveman in him was finally satisfied—for the time being.

And it had been beyond his imaginings. Had it ever been that way with him and Hayley? He didn't think so. He'd never lost control like that with his ex. Never, she never would have allowed it.

But Emily seemed to demand it. Wanted it. Needed it. And he was more than ready to provide her with exactly what she needed, whenever.

But he didn't think he'd be able to do another five'a' nighter. If he admitted it to himself, he was probably too old to have done what he'd done tonight—especially so many times. But any soreness, stiffness of old muscles, he experienced was more than worth it to have her with him. He didn't care if he limped around Seattle all day today, he'd know what happened between them, and would revel in it.

They still had a few hours before the seven a.m. alarm, but he couldn't sleep—no matter how physically exhausted his body was. He couldn't stop replaying every glorious moment of the past few hours, and his body was beginning to stir.

But he was letting her sleep, so he ignored the urgings of his body, turning on his side to see her more fully. They still hadn't turned out the light, so she was completely revealed to him. Her face was soft, relaxed in sleep, with the new bangs tickling her forehead. He liked them, it softened the angles of her face a little, made her appear less cool and collected, made her look a bit more approachable—and almost sweet. Especially when asleep. Her mouth was slightly parted, swollen from his kisses. _His _kisses. And that thrilled him, down to the deepest, most primitive part of him. A tiny bruise had formed on her shoulder, where he'd bitten her, but he didn't feel any remorse for his actions. He liked that he'd marked her, made it clear to all that she was _his._

Aaron Hotchner was a caveman, when it came down to it. And the civilized suits and neatly tied ties really couldn't hide it—if one looked just close enough.

He used to hate that part of himself. The angry part, the instinctive part that he'd learned to control so long ago. A part of him still did. But he couldn't find it in himself to care tonight.

_She_ hadn't been frightened off. If anything, she'd burned hotter the rougher he'd gotten. It was like the profiler in her had _understood_ exactly what he'd needed, wanted, _craved_. Like she had read him clean through.

He wasn't too sure how he thought about that, now, but when it was happening he'd been awestruck. Had he ever given any other person that much power to see inside him?

Had anyone ever just seen, regardless?

Hayley certainly hadn't. Gideon might have, but it wasn't something they'd ever discussed. Dave certainly seemed to read him a little. And they were the only people he'd ever felt close enough to open up to. But with Emily, it was as if he didn't need to up. As if she just knew.

Was it the profiler in her, or just that she was uniquely tuned in to _him?_

He wasn't sure what he hoped for, but he knew that he couldn't wait to find out.

In the meantime, he'd just wait and see what happened between them from here. He rolled back onto his back as she flipped over, beginning the habitual squirming that signaled she was dreaming. He pulled her closer, whispering reassurances until she settled, against his chest, one hand draped around his neck, his shoulder, her knee rising to cover his thigh.

This time he could run a hand all over her body, pull her as tightly to him as he wanted. No rules of propriety could stop him now, so he took advantage of it, aligning her just where he wanted her, until he could feel her all around him, felt his body tightening even more.

He didn't move to act on those urges, just laid there enjoying having the right to lay there.

Hotch had gotten what he wanted from Emily Prentiss, and he was damned sure he'd get it again, and again, and again. And now that he'd had her—there was no one who could stop him from getting even more from her.

But he'd have to go slow. Not rush her, not endanger their careers, their reputations. But when all was said and done—he was going to have it all.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

Emily was so damned sore she didn't think she could move. That was her first thought upon waking. The second was that there was no way she was getting out of that bed. No way. At that point, she didn't care if there were a hundred serial killers outside her door—she was too damned sore, in places too damned unmentionable, to even think about moving.

And it was all his fault. The animal. She felt a smile touch her lips as she remembered exactly what that animal had done to her, with her, for her.

Ok, so maybe she liked the animal in him. But that didn't mean she wasn't sore.

Wow. She rolled on her back, looking toward the bedroom door, which he'd left open. Heard the shower running, knew exactly where her boss, and now her lover, was.

How was she going to make it through the entire day?

It would kill her. No doubts about it. And he'd have to explain the _why, _the cause of death, to an entire team of profilers. She could picture it in her head. Morgan's quirked eyebrows, JJ's mouth forming her favorite _wow _expression, Reid completely flabbergasted, and Garcia—Garcia would be snickering in the background, her voice filling everyone's earwics.

She giggled softly, as the man in question wandered back in, dressed in underwear and an undershirt, towel-drying that black hair of his. "Hey."

She laughed again, seeing the way he moved. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was sore.

"You find something funny, SSA Prentiss?" His dimples flashed, a rare occurrence that had gotten a little less rare in the last few weeks. "Care to share with the rest of the…team?"

"Yes, sir. SSAIC Hotchner. All my profiling skills are leading me to believe you had a very rough night."

"You might say that." Hotch's lips twitched as he sank down on the bed beside the giggling woman. "I hurt in places that simply don't exist."

"I've decided I am staying in this bed until I can walk to the bathroom without groaning." Emily declared. "You'll just have to fly back to Portland without me, seeing as how _you_ can walk. And—you get to explain it to the rest of the team why I am suddenly stuck in bed."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice was concerned, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Wasn't too rough?"

"No. Not at all." She said, sensing his question went a bit deeper than he wanted her to know. "It was wonderful, Hotch. I am sore but I think it was from doing it _five_ times in such a short span of time. Wow."

"Yes." He said, leaning in to kiss her. "I agree with that—wow."

_ok ok,...this is supposed to be a CASE fic...why do I keep getting shippy-distracted? Anyway...I am extremely interested in people's opinions of this chapter. Did I keepit in character? Please let me know...and I promise, the next chapter will be CASE-Y in nature..I think._


	6. Chapter 6

HOPE SIX

_What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.-Oscar Wilde_

Twenty-six hours after Calvert and JJ aired the news conference, the tip line resounded with one name. Gerald Moore was a local carpenter and builder who liked to hike in the area surrounding the dumping sites. Three callers had pointed in his direction for three different reasons. The first caller knew Gerald Moore and had seen him in the general vicinity where Melinda Carmichael disappeared. The second caller remembered selling the building materials to a former classmate who drove a late nineties Dodge Ram, dark in color. He'd helped Moore load the vehicle, and had seen a mud-covered shovel in the truck's bed. His call was a shot in the dark.

But it was the second time Moore's name had come up through the tip line. The final nail in Moore's coffin came from a forest service agent who'd retired two weeks earlier. He'd remembered citing Moore's vehicle for parking in a restricted zone less than two hundred feet from the first dumping site the same week the forest service agent had retired. Moore had been belligerent, nervous, agitated enough that the agent had made a note of the man's name and plate number.

JJ took the call from the forest service agent personally. She'd also taken the call from the lumber supplier. It was a simple as that coincidental fact that led her to putting them together.

Within two hours Garcia had everything there was to know about Gerald P. Moore. Enough for them to strongly suspect he was the UNSUB. All that was left to do was find him.

Morgan and Prentiss went to Moore's house, along with Sidle and Calvert.

"Does it ever creep you out?" Emily asked. "Going through their houses? I mean, I know it bothers Garcia to go through their records. But we...we are supposed to get a feel for these monsters by checking their everyday life."

"And you're wondering what profile could be developed from your condo." Morgan said. "That's understandable."

"Is it?" Emily asked, as Sidle and Calvert searched the backyard. "So what would profilers learn about the great ladies man, Derek Morgan?"

"They'd learn that I'm smart enough to hide the things I wouldn't want people to see. Even if it's as simple as putting my dirty underwear in the hamper." He stepped over a strewn-out pile of dirty laundry with a look of disgust on his face.

Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket. She wasn't touching anything in Moore's house without some sort of protection. The man lived like a slob. "And what does Derek Morgan feel needs hiding?"

"Nothing this extreme." He held up a stack of magazines, magazines of the ilk that turned Emily's stomach on behalf of every woman. "He has BDSM magazines, and tapes. But I don't see any signs of the tools."

"This isn't is workshop." Emily said, referring to the area where the UNSUB would do his perverse torture of his victims. "How large is this property?"

"About six acres. Moore inherited it from a great aunt. She'd raised him since the age of nine. His parents left him with her and never came back."

"What do we know about his childhood?" Prentiss paused in front of a wall full of photos. A solemn boy stared back at her from most.

"She was older, maybe sixty when he came to her. Upstanding member of the Carlsbad Presbyterian. He was fed, clothed, etc. Garcia is working on more."

"Are you saying that something that happened to Moore as a child led to him killing twelve women?" Calvert asked from the hallway.

"Probably not _something, _but rather a collection or series of somethings." Emily said. "Parental abandonment, an elderly relative with prominent control of him, combined with what ever psychological factors he already possessed. It all could have combined to form our UNSUB."

Calvert still looked skeptical. "Still seems like nothing but an excuse to me."

"Never that. All these factors can be present, in any manner of people. Add in the personal choice to commit these acts, and that's what creates our UNSUB." Emily added. "I don't think we're going to find much more here."

"I'm with you." Morgan said. "This isn't where he does his thing. We need to find that before we can find the answers."

"I'll call Hotch." Emily flipped open her phone.

They were business as usual, despite the hot and heated acts of Seattle. She wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, they'd slept together—although sleep had had little to do with it—but when it came down to the nitty gritty, they were on the West Coat to stop a serial killer. Emily couldn't forget that. Wouldn't forget that. She knew Hotch felt the same way.

They'd discussed it, on the flight back from Washington. Had come to two agreements. One, they'd take things slowly, privately, and calmly between them, trying to make as little waves for the team as possible. Two, they'd always remember that when on cases their primary objective was to solve the cases.

They were two mature professionals, and Emily didn't think they'd have a problem with either part.

Still, Morgan had been eying her funny all day. It was starting to get irritating. He waited until they were back in the SUV they were sharing before finally asking one of the questions she'd been dreading.

"You slept with Hotch, didn't you?"

"Not really any of your business, Morgan." Her voice was a strangled mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"Probably not." Morgan shrugged. "But does that really matter? What matters is the lack of tension in the two of you. I wanted to let you know that this is a good thing. I've already told him that."

"Gee. Thanks, Morgan." Emily knew there was some red staining her cheeks. "You're approval means all the world to me."

"So you did sleep with Hotch." Morgan practically crowed as Emily realized that she'd confirmed his suspicions.

"Morgan, we are not in junior high."

"No. But if Teacher Strauss finds out you've been kissin' Hotch under the bleachers, you are so seriously gonna end up in detention. And Hotch could get expelled." Morgan's words were only half joking. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got your back. Yours and Hotch's."

"Don't you always?" She really did love Morgan. He had such a strong sense of loyalty. It was one of his most admirable characteristics. "Thanks, Derek."

"Anytime." He grinned once. "The positioning of the bodies, that's bothering me a little."

"Yes. Me, too." Emily frowned, then set silent as Morgan maneuvered the SUV through the streets. "It's almost as if he's nestling _children _into those graves."

"Exactly. As if he's tucking them in together so they don't get lonely or anything."

Emily pulled out her phone. Hit speed dial. "Hey Garcia. You are on speaker."

"Ok. I'm here with the hottest Hotch on the planet. What can we—_he—_do you for?"

Emily mentally groaned while Morgan snickered.

"Baby girl, was Gerald Moore an only child?" Morgan fought to keep back a smile. Emily fought the urge to smack him.

"Nothing officially listed. Hang on a second, let me check the great-aunt's tax returns." A few minutes passed. "No. As far as all records indicate, Gerald Moore was the only of an only. The great-aunt was his only living relative until two months ago."

"Possible stresser?" Emily asked. "Fits the timeline."

"Doesn't explain the almost parental method of remorse shown." Morgan said, then quickly explained their line of reasoning to Hotch via the phone. "Hotch, man. We postulated that the UNSUB would be in a relationship, a stable one. Yet there was no indication of a woman in his home. I don't think we were that far off. Garcia, can you find me anything on Moore's personal history?"

"Give me fifteen minutes, Garcia over and out."

She rang back fourteen minutes later, just as Morgan was guiding the SUV into the station's parking garage.. "Gerald Moore was married to a woman who had two children from a previous marriage. From all accounts they were a relatively happy and stable couple."

"We're in the parking lot, we'll be there shortly." Morgan said, killing the engine. Two minutes later they were crowded around Garcia's computer screen.

"What happened?" Emily asked, leaning into Hotch's shoulder almost unconsciously.

"That's just it. Nobody seems to know. Last known address for Sara Moore was twenty minutes outside of Boise Idaho. Two months ago. Then from all accounts, the Moore family packed up and moved, supposedly to Indiana. But Indiana shows no records or Sara or her two children. Two months ago, Gerald Moore shows up here, with no sign of Sara or the children." Garcia said.

"Three people don't just disappear." Morgan said.

"Do you think Gerald Moore _made _them disappear?" Emily asked. "

"His first victims?" Hotch frowned. Reid wrote on the whiteboard near the other side of the room. He listed Sara and her children's names, along with question marks. "It would explain the use of the three per grave."

"So, what...he kills his wife and her children, does something with the bodies—probably burying in the woods somewhere in Idaho. Returns to the scene for a while. His great-grandmother dies, leaving him truly alone. So he reacts by reenacting the murders of Sara and the children? What about the sexual sadism?" Emily paced around the room, mind focused on working out the p0ssibilities. "Garcia, was there any hint of abuse in Sara and the children's records?"

"Not that I saw. Had the average number of trips to the ER per child. Nothing that said abuse. Mostly ear infections and the like."

"Still, if it was going on, it doesn't necessarily mean it was reported." Hotch said. "The rest of the pieces, we'll have to get from Moore. Garcia, I want you to stay on Sara Moore. See if you can find something to tell us where she is. Alive or dead."

"Gotcha, head G-man."

"Moore does part time work for Gladdis Construction. Morgan, Calvert, Prentiss and I will check with them. See where he's at today. I want to get him off the streets as quickly as possible. We'll work on tracking any other victims after that." Hotch held Emily's suit coat for her to slip it on over the air cast. He did it without thinking, and she barely registered the gesture.

No one else blinked either. Emily had to wonder if their entire relationship would be like that. Would it make so little of a wave in the team? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Or was it simply because the team were their friends and respected her and Hotch's right to privacy?

She shook her head minutely, determined to not let those type of thoughts dominate. Morgan had told her it was a good thing. And Penelope had long been urging Emily to jump Hotch. A team of profilers couldn't all be wrong. Her and Hotch, maybe they _were _a good thing. It would just take her a while to get used to it. Self-doubts were normal, she knew that.

She looked up at him for a moment as they waited in the elevator. He caught her gaze and smiled. The barest hints of his dimples showed. She fought the urge to smile back. Whatever the final outcome of their relationship, she was glad they'd at least taken the next step.

Only time would tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. And she knew it would be whatever she and Hotch made it. And hadn't they _both _proved that when something mattered to them, they'd fight heaven and earth to get the desired results?

It would be a good thing. She just knew it.

EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH

Hotch resisted the urge to keep Emily behind him as they began the actions that would lead to apprehending the UNSUB. Gerald Moore had reported to work at his customary time of 8:15 am. He'd never missed a day since taking the job two months earlier; he'd also never been late or had any disciplinary issues. He was the model employee.

From all accounts, everyone on the construction team got along well with him although many referred to him as a bit of a braggart and aloof. Nothing the BAU hadn't predicted. His truck was clean and neat, and ran in perfect condition. Hotch ordered two agents to watch the vehicle—which was parked on the south side of the construction lot. On the off chance, they missed Moore he wanted the bases covered.

Hotch was the first to spot Moore among the two dozen workers on the main level of what was to be a three story structure. "Prentiss and Reid, take the far left side. Cut off all access to any form of heavy machinery. Calvert, take two of your agents in the mid-left area. Ramierez take the right, Sidle, the far right. And the rest of you, surround the back. The man we are looking for is the one in the red checked shirt. Morgan, you and I will take point."

Moore didn't resist. He saw the dozen or so agents headed toward him and he surrendered peacefully. It wasn't what Hotch had expected, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was ready for this case to be over, and for him and Emily to be working on some of the _finer _details of their relationship. Like where he would be sleeping that night, and hopefully for many nights to come.

Two hours later, Gerald Moore was cuffed to the interrogation table, and Hotch was beginning the interview. Emily watched from the two-way mirror as the team leader led the man skillfully through the entire pattern.

He broke Moore in twenty minutes, and had the entire story pouring out. The man had killed his wife, just as the BAU had suspected, then the children. Moore couldn't even articulate the why behind his actions. He'd just snapped, killing his entire family. Agents had been sent to Boise to confirm the location of Sara and the children's bodies. He'd reenacted the crime of killing Sara with each woman he'd taken, adding and embellishing more sadistic acts each time. He'd nestled her and her children together in one grave because he'd not wanted Sara to worry about the children. Moore had a hard time even admitting the children were dead. Hotch was careful not to lead him into confessing falsely, but the man eventually provided enough believable details that Hotch was satisfied he'd gotten to the truth.

It was, unfortunately, nothing the BAU hadn't seen before. Still, it was not something they would forget. It was just one more monster off the streets.

HOTCH*EMILY*HOTCH*EMILY

Emily was quiet on the flight back to DC. Hotch sat at her side, their knees touching. Just like they'd done probably a thousand times before. This time it was different, and they both knew it. Hell, the _entire _team knew it.

Hotch bumped her beneath the table, then dropped his hand to cover her knee. She looked up at him, eyes dark and soft. He tilted his head in her direction slightly. "You ok?"

"Just tired." She fought a yawn as she spoke. "And thinking."

He lowered his voice even more. "About...us?"

"No." She shook her head, sending strawberry-scented hair brushing against him.

"Then?"

"He couldn't even explain his actions." She stared at the clouds out her window. "How can we?"

"We can't explain every action; human will dictates that. For all accounts, Gerald Moore had a somewhat normal, if not typical, childhood. His great aunt treated him well, that was evident by the way he spoke of her. He had no other indications of a murderous tendency."

"That's what bothers me the most, I think. He went from being so _ordinary, _so normal, to being a killer responsible for the deaths of fifteen people. If we can't determine the_why _behind that, how can we determine the why behind any human action?" He loved the way her mind worked, how she circled around things in her thought process. It was just as complex as Reid's just in a slightly different way.

"I don't think we can. Gerald Moore made the decision to do what he did every time he grabbed a new victim. The decision to harm and kill was made time and time again. He could have chose to stop. He just didn't. It's that way with every human behavior. In any situation, we can only hope that each choice is the right one." Hotch wrapped an arm around her as unobtrusively as possible. Not that it mattered, the entire team was deep in their own pursuits. Reid was studying some obscure reports, Morgan was listening to music, and JJ was reading. Sidle and his partner were playing magnetic chess of all things.

"And _our _choice will be the right one, for you, me, Jack, the team?" She asked. If he hadn't known her so well he would have automatically assumed she was having doubts. But he knew the truth.

"I'm sure in my decision, Emily. No backing out now."

They spoke little for the rest of the flight. It was a long one and they were tired. She slept on his shoulder, both their chairs leaned back for added comfort. It was nice to be able to share human closeness with someone again. He was ever glad it was with her. Hotch thought back to the last several weeks, since that cold morning he'd woken to find his subordinate curled on his chest as the team lay sound asleep on a pile of hay, thought back over the changes that his life had taken. Changes _he'd _made the choice to let happen. Changes shared with Emily Prentiss. There was one major difference in his life and he would gladly admit it—Aaron Hotchner had regained one of the most important things a person needed to survive: _hope._

**_Well, I've done it! This Alternate Universe "The Lion and the Antelope" is now finished with this, the final chapter of "Hope". I have made the decision to turn the case in "Apocalypse Now" into a full-fledged spec script and am working on that project 'in my spare time'. I do appreciate everyone's patience this past year as my updates have slowed down considerably (from 1 a day to 1 a season!)!_**

**_As some of you know, I have written a spec-script for this show (a spec script is a sample show written about a current series that a writer adds to their portfolio and shows to important people in an attempt to get hired to write for another show). My script is called "Fire Inside" and in it, Prentiss's apartment catches fire. It can be found on my blog page "Scripts and Screenplays." I'll be posting the "Apocalypse Now" script once I finish it._**

_**I'm on twitter (callejay) and facebook under Calle J. Brookes!**_

_**(And as always, Write On!)**_


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